


You always show up

by lwtmehome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Taboo, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 117,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwtmehome/pseuds/lwtmehome
Summary: Louis has always been the perfect step-uncle. He took care of Harry when they were just kids and he's taken care of Harry through their restless years of youth, too. Louis never complains either, and what's most important, is that Louisalways shows up.But then again, who wouldn't do that for the person they might possibly love more than life itself?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back. 
> 
> Well, that was lame. **BUT PLEASE READ THIS.**
> 
> I know it says **taboo** in the tag list but they are **not actually related** in any way! So breathe easier. This fic does contain sex, so it does differ from my other lengthy Larry fics. If sex doesn't bother you, please give this one a try!
> 
> Also it's good to know that I have written this fic years ago - like no kidding, years ago. I just wanted to get it out there and see how people respond to it. Hope you enjoy! x
> 
> **Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and this story is completely made up, has nothing to do with reality. I do own the actual story, so please don't copy or distribute it anywhere without my permission.**

_Most days are fine. Most days are like most days are supposed to be: the endless drifting from hour to another, taking what life gives you, accepting your dead-boring life like the champ you are. That's how Louis imagines most days ought to be, anyways. That's what they are for him. And for some, those days might be what's killing them, slowly eating away their will to live, the dullness and aimlessness of it all. And Louis guesses he understands that, too, but for him it hasn't been like that for the longest of time._

_Those most days are what he cherishes with the utmost respect, wishing all days could be like most days are. That never lasts, though._

_Louis picks up the stained coffee cup and rinses it, his thoughts unpleasantly jumbled, the white noise a tad louder inside his head. His eyes keep flitting to the phone on the counter, anxiousness churning in his stomach. Nonetheless, Louis tries and goes about the night like he always does. He washes the dishes, takes a shower before catching up on Downtown Abbey and eventually falls in to the soft mattress, in to the quiet of the night. The phone he leaves closer than usually, right next to his pillow, the one he bought seven years ago and dragged along all the way from Doncaster to London when he first moved away at eighteen._

_It's barely a blink of an eye, the sleep Louis gets, before his phone's ringing and he’s_ up up up. _He doesn’t have to read the name on the screen, but he does it either way, just to get that small, sick glimmer of hope and happiness before it all goes to shit again._

_"Heeey," someone,_ he _, breathes in to the phone, miserable._

_"Where are you?"_

_Harry coughs violently, the sound hurting Louis’ ears but even more so his heart. "A park. I think."_

_Louis is already up, the duvet thrown aside, and even though he doesn’t know where the other is, he’s pulling on his jeans and picking up the keys, a bottle of water from the fridge, the bottle._

_"Can you maybe be a little bit more specific, curly?" he aims for a light tone, thinks the boy would appreciate it._

_He does. "I think it's the one we used to come to when we were, like eighteen." He says with a laugh._

_Louis promises to pick him up, promises to be there in ten minutes, but it only takes him six. The younger boy is slumped against a tree trunk, his eyes half-lidded, lips pulled in to a lazy smile. He waves, Louis rolls his eyes._

_"Missed you," he coos, trying to reach for the older._

_"Sure you did," Louis mumbles as he pulls the boy up from the grass, only to have him heavily lean on him, Harry’s arms cling around the smaller man’s waist._

_"You are the best uncle ever," he has the audacity to say into Louis’ shoulder. The older shakes his head a little, the smallest smile tugging at his lips._

_Louis pushes the intoxicated boy – or a man, really – away a little, examines his eyes, face and even though he disguises it as a check-up, it's really not. It's the only moment Louis gets with him –_ this him _– these days, anyhow._

_"How much have you drank?"_

_He shrugs. "Enough to piss off some people."_

_"Obviously," Louis deadpans, not impressed in the least._

_"Not you though. Never you," Harry smirks and it's half-sided, but works all the same._

_The older pulls him with, towards the car. "Don't try your luck, kid."_

_"Not a kid anymore," he points out, his finger waggling in front of Louis._

_"You've barely made it away from the sandbox, H."_

_He squawks, a sudden laugh startling out of him. "I'm twenty-two, you know."_

_"Mhmm," Louis nods, "And I'm twenty-five. And still picking you up."_

_Harry goes quiet as the older helps him in the car and rounds it, hopping in himself. Neither say anything for a long while, and Louis knows the younger is reflecting, knows he's feeling lost, feeling stupid. He should, too, the other thinks, but doesn’t say anything._

_"Why do you?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Pick me up," Harry’s head falls towards Louis, uncoordinated and his eyes are bleary from the alcohol._

_Louis has told him before, but the other was on so much more back then, he probably doesn't even remember. He shouldn't either, Louis figures._

_"You're my nephew?"_

_Harry raises his eyebrows, the dimples out again. "You asking me?"_

_Louis snorts, shaking his head but adds then. "I care about you."_

_The smile falls right off. "Right, yeah. You do."_

_The older glances at him. The younger’s brows are furrowed, he's thinking and much to Louis’ dismay, he knows about what already._

_"He doesn't, does he?"_

No, he probably doesn't.

_"Hey now. He's with you, isn't he?" Louis tries to console, but frankly, he’s always been shit at that._

_"For now," Harry coughs a little, "Who knows when he'll leave."_

_"He hasn't yet. Been a year now," Louis says, his tone tilting towards encouraging, but it's half-assed, he can feel it himself, too._

_Harry shakes his head. "Whatever. Doesn't matter. I don't care anyway."_

_"Yes, you do."_

_The younger doesn’t argue, even though Louis keeps hoping he would._

_At the older’s apartment, Harry knows where everything is, he manages to get into Louis’ bed easily enough, little bit more sober now. As Louis lays next to him, caressing his cheek, the taller’s long lashes sweeping at his skin, the older feels like this is where he belongs, but also like he’s on borrowed time. And he should, too, because it’s wrong, the way he feels. He knows that. He also knows Harry will be gone the next morning, running back to his boyfriend, like he should be. Louis should be overflowing with pride, knowing Harry’s managed to stay this loyal in such a disloyal world, but. There's always a but._

_The taller man doesn't stir, doesn't show any sign of life other than his unnaturally fast breathing. Louis sort of wants to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s the only person there, he thinks, the only person to pick him up, to tell him someone cares._

_Eventually, Louis falls asleep, feeling somewhat hurt and neglected, unjustly so. He wakes up to an empty bed and a_ thank you _-note with a smiley face. He simply tears it up and gets back to his routine._

–

Pushing his iPhone off the bed happens every morning. The blaring alarm right next to Louis’ ear is something he’s never going to get used to no matter how many awful mornings it rings, thus, the device is very familiar with the black and white striped carpet next to Louis’ king-sized bed. Today after the alarm is cut out, however, the familiar _thud_ of the phone hitting the soft fabric doesn’t happen. Instead of that somewhat comforting sound, a horrible crack makes Louis jolt upright from his slumped position. His eyes are still filled with sleep-dust as he searches for the cause to it and a prompt ’ _fuck’_ escapes his lips as he takes in the cracked screen of his black phone, but his heart at least settles down a little.

With grumbles, Louis throws the duvet away and picks up the damned device, inspecting it more closely. The phone’s an iPhone 6, not a cheap one with Louis’ pitiful salary, so he doubts he’d be able to afford a new screen, which the thing definitely now needs, the colours disoriented when Louis swipes the phone open. He sighs, but digs up Zayn’s number, while making his way to the bathroom to wash his teeth. The clock can’t be much past seven, but Louis figures the other man should be awake by now or rather _still_ , after his night-shift. With Zayn you never know, though. Just as he sticks the toothbrush in his mouth, the ringing stops and his relatively awake sounding best mate greets him.

”Are you free if I come by before work?” his voice comes out muffled because of the brush and also a bit scratchy, still early in the day.

The other man either ponders on it or is just distracted, because it’s silent for a while, before his honey-smooth voice pours through the speaker again. ”Yeah, I think so,” he hums, ”Gotta sleep after, though.”

Louis spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth, sticking his toothbrush in the decorative cup he’d gotten from his nephew as a housewarming gift couple years ago. ”Yeah, this’ll only take a moment. Just going to drop me phone off to you.”

As Louis trudges to his dresser to pick up some clean black jeans and a hoodie – while questioning whether a twenty-six-year old man should actually wear hoodies – Zayn inquiries what’s happened to his phone. ”Fell on the floor,” the older huffs, ”Swiped it off the bed a bit more harshly than usually, I guess.”

He earns a gloating laugh from the 25-year-old in return, and a helpful reminder of why the other has been telling Louis to just put it on the bedside table instead. But Louis’ stubborn, he’s a person of principle – never mind if that principle is actually useful or of logic. ”Okay, will you shut the fuck up now?” he interrupts while fixing the nest that is also called his hair, ”I get it. You were right, I wasn’t. I’ll use the bedside table from now on. Happy?”

”I dunno,” Zayn’s voice is gleeful, ”If you keep breaking your phone more often, then I might suggest you just keep it on the bed. More fun for me anyways.”

Louis’ stark blue eyes stare back at him from the mirror as he tries to swipe the bags away beneath them, to no avail of course. He makes his way out of the small bedroom and grabs the keys of his 1999 model Toyota Corolla from the bowl right next to the front door. ”Is it really?” he chirps in the mocking way, ”’Cause it’s you who’s going to fix it every time I break it.”

The other groans, mumbling about being used as the older sits in the driver’s seat. ”Stop whining and make me some tea,” he orders then, starting the car, ”I’ll be there in fifteen.”

–

As the door opens, Louis is greeted with the pleasant smell of Yorkshire tea and a little less pleasant smell of oil paint. Zayn’s clothes are smudged with black and grey colours, but his hands are surprisingly clean. ”I thought you were supposed to go to sleep as soon as I’m gone.”

The younger shrugs. ”You inspired a new painting,” there’s teasing in the man’s voice, hidden deep under the layer of sarcasm, as they sit around the small kitchen island, tea cups in hand.

”Mmm. I tend to do that,” Louis nods, taking a cautious sip from his tea, mindful of his tongue.

Zayn doesn’t comment on the words, far too used to Louis’ somewhat egocentric nature. ”Let’s see the phone then,” he holds out his palm to Louis and the older plants the broken device in it.

”It’s proper smashed,” the raven haired man muses, mostly to himself, inspecting the thing while Louis gulps down his mildly hot beverage, bypassing the burn in his mouth, his eyes flitting to the clock on the wall.

”You don’t say,” he says dryly, getting up, ”Have fun with it. I’m gonna pick it up tomorrow after you’re off from work. All good?”

”D’you need one to use meanwhile?” Zayn raises his brows flipping the phone between his fingers.

For a brief moment Louis considers saying no since there’s not many people who might call him in the next thirty hours or so, but then his traitor brain taps on his shoulder, reminding him there’s always _one_ person who _could_ need him at any given moment. His eyes flicker to somewhere on his left, which Zayn obviously picks up on, as he’s already getting up from the stool and going through one of the drawers.

An iPhone 5S is chucked into Louis’ hands a moment after, along with a small smile. ”Thanks,” the older nods, a thankful tilt to his upward turned lips.

With that Louis slips out of the door while shoving his SIM-card in the phone. There’s no missed calls or messages, which is fine. It’s good, because that’s what Louis expected and that’s how it’s supposed to be anyway.

–

July is perhaps Louis’ least favourite month – work-wise, that is – with all its heat and crowded London streets, tourists filling the pub that he works at to the brim, the location near the center of the city. It’s not like Louis hates the money the thirsty passers-by bring in, not at all, but there’re many kind of people that fit into the lot, some of them less friendly and appreciative than one would hope. And though Louis isn’t lazy, not at work he isn’t, the hustle the summer months bring usually tilts towards stressful, and the man isn’t exactly the type to thrive under pressure. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the sweat that gathers under his black t-shirt, in the hollow right at the bottom of his spine, either. Or the fact that his morning shift starts two hours earlier than it would during winter months.

This particular day has been exhausting, more so than Louis remembers having in a while. When there’s thirty minutes of his shift left, his feet ache and they’re sweaty in his black Vans, his back’s hurting from all the running around and his fringe is glued to his forehead. The fact that his boss, Liam, has been moody all day doesn’t really help matters, having made Louis cranky as well by now.

”Where’s the fucking ledger?” Liam’s voice carries through the kitchen, from where he’s standing at his office’s doorway.

Louis rolls his eyes, as if anyone there would or _should_ know. He’s probably the only person who’s ever seen the damn thing besides Liam, being the assistant manager and all. There hasn’t been one day he’s not regretted taking that position, pay cheque be damned. Lately, Louis has been running all of Liam’s errands and then some, even though technically there’s at least three people working at the pub that have the right level of experience to complete those tasks. He hasn’t complained, though, somehow sensing there’s something maybe going on in his boss’ personal life.

Liam’s literally one of the nicest guys Louis has ever met and that’s actually the reason Louis accepted the assistant manager job – because they get on so well Louis figured it’d be worth the extra time spent with the man. But lately it’s been Liam barking nonsense orders and tugging at his hair in such way Louis thinks there might not be any hair left by the end of the month. He knows for a fact it’s got nothing to do with the pub, _The Anchor_ ’s actually been doing quite well for some time now, if the ledger – that is now gone – is anything to go by.

” _Louis,_ ” Liam hollers, now much closer to the older man who’s pinning orders on the worn out bulletin board, his back turned to the fuming man.

”Yes, Liam?” he asks dryly, only tilting his head enough to meet the brown eyes of his boss.

”Did you not hear me or what?” the other snaps, his arms crossed over his chest, his thick brows knitted, ”I asked where’s the ledger.”

The first words that threaten to fall from his lips aren’t kind, aren’t polite but plain rude. He’s tired and feels hot, his clothes sticking to his skin and his hair feel disgusting by now, nearly nine hours of work already behind him. Louis only has fifteen more minutes of work left for today, though, and he’s having a day off tomorrow, so he takes a deep breath instead of blurting the words his sharp tongue tries to push out.

”Haven’t seen it, mate,” he answers, shaking his head, ”Maybe it’s in the bottom drawer. Didn’t you move it there, like a week ago or something?”

A flicker of recollection flashes on Liam’s face, his posture turning from rigid to exhausted. Now that, Louis can relate to. He offers the man a tired smile of his own, patting him on the shoulder. ”’s fine, Liam. All good, mate,” he assures, putting the tray he’s been carrying around on the table, among the others.

”Thanks,” Liam huffs, but it’s not unkind in any way, ”You can go. We’ll manage.”

And Louis isn’t one to turn an offer like that down, so he nods. ”I’ll go change then. See you in two days.”

They part ways and the older disappears in the back room where the employees’ lockers are. It’s a small room, a little dingy as the previous owner, Liam’s father, never bothered to redo it and Liam has deemed other parts of the pub worth more on that scale. Louis can’t say he doesn’t agree, and anyways, they don’t spend that much time back here. It’s mostly for their clothes and such, for changing in and out of work attire. For Louis it only consists of a black t-shirt since he’d ditched the apron when he took the assistant manager job.

The sweaty shirt doesn’t come off easy, but once it does, Louis throws it into his bag and pulls his own hoodie out in exchange. He knows it’s going to be boiling hot out right now, but it’s always cold in the morning. Well, Louis is cold in the morning, no matter what time he wakes up or how bloody hot it’s outside. His body’s weird like that. Before he leaves the room, he cards through his fringe, trying to rid some of the sweat, maybe to look somewhat presentable. In the end it doesn’t really matter how his hair looks, the dark bags under his eyes now more prominent than in the morning.

Louis gives up eventually, just pushing the fringe away from his eyes and slipping out of the room. He calls his goodbyes to his co-workers as he nudges the kitchen door open and enters the pub. It’s still full, bustling with happy, laughing people, but it doesn’t take his eyes more than two seconds to spot the familiar mop of short, wavy hair at the bar. For about a second there’s something hot, like a white flame rioting in his stomach as he takes in the man’s tight black jeans and the sleeveless, yellow shirt that reveals his toned arms and sides, visible from the stretched arm holes. Louis scolds himself, before making his way to the younger man, silently wondering what brings him here.

”Harry? What’re you doing here?”

The man’s head snaps to Louis, a dimply smile instantly taking over his full lips when their eyes meet. ”Lou, hi,” they hug when Harry gets up from the stool where he’d been scrolling on his phone, ”Sorry I came unannounced like this. Didn’t even know if you had work.”

Harry’s touch leaves Louis’ skin burning hot in an entirely different way than the summer heat, but he ignores it swiftly, in an accustomed manner. ”What’s up?”

There’s a moment of hesitance, the taller man shifting on his feet and turning his gaze away. He seems nervous and suddenly Louis feels a little worried. It’s not like the two aren’t close, because they are, have been since Harry was just a toddler and Louis one of those proper know-it-all kids, bossing the little curly haired lad around like the proud uncle he was. Or is, still.

They’re close, sure they are. They text every week, mostly about trivial things maybe, but there’s also a silent agreement between the two of them, one that states that there’s nothing they can’t share with the other when need be. Well, _almost_ nothing. Still, they don’t see very often, despite being friends and living in the same city – relatives or not. It’s mostly because Harry’s in university now, still living with his mother, Louis’ older sister. All his time is spent studying, seeing his friends and boyfriend while commuting between school and home. Sometimes he spends a night or two at Louis’, maybe if he’s gone out with friends, mostly when he’s passed out somewhere and the older picks him up. Sometimes he spends a night just to hang out with Louis. That happens, too, just not as often lately. Not since Harry started seeing Will.

So, it worries Louis a little that Harry’s here. More often than not, the reason for the younger’s visit is unpleasant in a way or another. Maybe for Louis, maybe for Harry. Usually for the both of them.

”Just, uh, wanted to see you, ’s all,” Harry’s fidgeting with one of the many rings on his fingers and Louis could tell from a mile away that he’s lying.

The way the man’s biting down on his lower lip and the way his green eyes are pleading Louis not to ask, though – The older doesn’t question the younger, just nods and throws his bag on his shoulder. ”I’m off now. Wanna come to mine?”

Harry nods eagerly and they leave the pub behind, trudging towards Louis’ car. It’s burning hot outside, like Louis knew it would be, but his mind is occupied by his nephew now. Harry’s a foster kid, not even adopted, but sometimes the older thinks he’s got the stubbornness of Tomlinsons. It’s not a bad thing, usually, but when it comes to things that are weighing Harry down, it can get scary. It’s not just once or twice that Louis has had to pick a drunken Harry up from somewhere, the younger so out of his mind, he’d been barely able to utter any words at all. It’s been a while since that’s happened, even though Louis knows it doesn’t mean everything’s well.

Alice, Harry’s foster-mother and Louis’ big sister, don’t always get on so well. Harry says it’s because the two don’t share many life-values. Like when Harry chose to study psychology because it interested him, without any intention whatsoever to do anything in the field of psychology in the future, Alice had thrown a fit. She doesn’t approve of Harry’s tattoos or most of his friends, because they’re a bit older than Harry. The man, on the other hand, doesn’t approve of Alice’s drinking habits and the way she keeps changing up her boyfriends. He’s not said it, not while sober anyway, but Louis knows this. He knows because he knows Harry well.

As they weave through the worst traffic, slowly moving onward, Harry takes notice of Louis’ loan phone in the cup holder. ”Is this yours? What happened to the six?”

The older’s lips quirk up involuntarily as he taps on the steering wheel with his left hand, while his right one’s hanging out of the wide open window. ”Broke it. This morning.”

The younger’s brows raise, an amused tilt to his voice. ”Got mad or something?”

”No,” Louis laughs, but backtracks then, ”Well, yeah. At my alarm clock. The carpet wasn’t where it was supposed to be, in my defense.”

Harry’s boisterous laugh fills the car and makes something warm and nice swim in Louis’ chest. He still elbows the other, chastising him, kind of. ”Fuck you. As if you’ve never broken a phone in your life.”

The younger has. The last phone he broke was at Louis’ birthday party almost seven months back. He’d been dancing on one of the tables in the club and while performing a poorly executed twirl, his phone had gone flying to one of the rum and coke glasses on the table next to theirs. Harry hadn’t even minded until the next morning, until Louis had laughed in his face.

”Right,” Harry nods, grinning still, ”But that was just plain stupid, what happened to yours. Why don’t you just tap it off like the rest of us?”

Louis gapes at him, waving both of his hands like it’s clear as day. ”Because I’m mad at the fucking alarm, yeah? I don’t like it. I punch things I don’t like, you know that.”

The younger snorts. ”That I do know,” his teasing eyes meet Louis’, ”Like when you were twelve and that girl from the next door tried to kiss you. We all know why you didn’t like _that_.”

”Shut up, Harry,” Louis shakes his head, but he’s smiling anyway, if not because of Harry, then because of the memory.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, the fatigue catching up to Louis again and the younger getting lost in his head, the way he usually does when he’s making decisions. Only when Louis puts on the air conditioning in his apartment and falls next to Harry on the couch, the other speaks up again.

”I fought with Alice,” his voice is even, but there’s something wavering in his eyes, ”She just doesn’t get me.”

Louis hums, nodding. He knows Alice doesn’t, seen enough of the pointless fights she’s started up with Harry, even though the older man thinks most of them could’ve been avoided. He sure as hell could’ve. He doesn’t let the fact that he’d basically give Harry the moon if he asked cloud his judgement. Well, he tries not to.

”What happened?”

Harry shrugs, his eyes directed at his fiddling fingers. ”She just started up again with the school stuff. How I should change my major or at least become a psychiatrist. Do something useful.”

”You still don’t know what you wanna do, then?”

The taller shakes his head. ”I’m young, though, aren’t I? You have a degree, you could be a teacher. But you’re not. You work in a pub,” Harry’s pointing at Louis now, hopeful glint in his eyes.

”Er, yeah,” Louis nods, his next words slow and thought through, ”But I’m not a good example, Haz. The only reason I’m not a teacher is that I don’t want to be that here. I want to move to a less crowded place and then I’ll try, probably. The pub thing isn’t glorious, in any way.”

Harry rolls his eyes, poking Louis in the stomach. ”I _know_ it isn’t glorious. I don’t want glorious. I want experiences, want to figure out who I am and what I really want, y’know.”

And yeah, Louis does know. Harry had been like that since he was five or something. Always going on about becoming something _great_. Great, as in something he himself could be proud of. Someone who follows his own path, is what Harry had always said. Louis had adored him since Harry was eight, so he’s always thought that it’s a wonderful goal to have in life. Louis secretly has the same one, or at least had for a while. Maybe he’s given it up now that he’s grown older and started seeing things in a different light. But he still adores Harry, so.

”I know you do,” he smiles, trying to convey the understanding without voicing it out, somehow aiming to keep the middle-ground here.

It’s silent for good two minutes before Harry speaks up again. ”Why haven’t you moved somewhere else yet? You could be a teacher right now instead of working at _The Anchor_.”

Louis turns his gaze away, fixing it somewhere further away trying to remain nonchalant while carefully hiding the biggest secret he probably has. ”Just not ready yet. Got to have the courage, don’t I.”

Harry gives him a curious look, but doesn’t ask, something in Louis’ posture or tone maybe signalling this isn’t something the older wants to discuss. Sometimes Louis forgets that the younger knows him probably just as well as Louis knows him, and it tends to take him by surprise.

“I’m gonna be way out of line right now,” Harry sighs or breathes out, Louis isn’t sure which because suddenly his whole body is going haywire, “But you’re my uncle and I’ve always been able to trust you. Trust your help.”

The older nods slowly, his mind numb with the array of inappropriate thoughts that he’s trying to shove into a coffin. Neatly bolted coffin with a ribbon on top. Harry aims his emeralds at Louis, then, making everything just that much worse.

“Can I move here?”

The words- they don’t quite register in Louis’ brain, because- Well, certainly this isn’t happening? Louis figures his face must’ve blanched or dropped at least, because the younger babbles on before he even has the time to think it through.

“I just don’t think it’s good for me and Alice to live together. And yours is closer to my uni, too. I can bunk on the couch and I promise I’ll be of help.”

For just a minute, Louis is able to push Harry’s pleading eyes out of his mind and actually internally panic. He can’t do this. He is physically _incapable_ of having his ridiculously old-souled nephew and all of his gorgeous self, sauntering around the small flat. He’s incapable of seeing him after shower, wrapped up in a tiny towel or literally just even seeing the younger lounging on his worn down couch. Louis can’t have the man around 24/7, not if he still wants to be a respectable uncle and _live_.

When he comes back to himself, to the moment, Louis’ faced with a pleading Harry. His eyes are big and earnest in a way that reminds Louis of the sixteen-year-old cherubic boy whose face he’d once or twice wanked to, when he was nineteen. And _fuck_ Louis can’t do this.

“Harry...”

The other’s face falls, a lone strand falling from his slightly tousled hair and he looks sad. Absolutely miserable, like he’d actually been certain he’d be able to count on Louis.

In reality, he should be able to. To anyone else, Louis is nothing but a loving, supportive uncle, who wants the best for his nephew. He’d always been Harry’s rock, even when they were just kids, when Alice had still been young and got called names for having a child – a foster one at that – at such a young age. Louis had always stood up for Harry and once upon a time he’d even promised to be there for the younger, whatever may come. He doesn’t think he was even drunk, but he wishes he had been.

“Why not? You know I’m not a slob. You’re worse than me,” Harry whines, his voice tilting to desperate.

Louis _hates_ that his decision wavers. Just a little, but he can feel it moving from its designated place. Giving Harry an inch, though.. Louis knows where that’ll end.

“I just,” the younger inches closer and Louis wants to leave the couch altogether, “Alice’s been drinking a lot lately. You know how it is with her.”

Louis knows and it kills him that he does. Alice has never been particularly stable, always changing up her boyfriends, most of them nice and decent people, but she always ends up driving them away somehow. That’s how she’d ended up with Harry as well, Louis had later in his life learned. She’d been barely eighteen and gotten hitched with someone named Colin. The guy was a few years older than Alice and had a four-year-old son, Harry. Maybe Colin would’ve stuck, they’ll never know, because not more than three months later the man had died in an accident and stupidly enough wished that Harry’s custody would be transferred to his barely-legal wife. And though Alice is feeble, she’d never been plain cruel. So, Harry had stuck. And Louis is grateful, always will be despite everything.

But he knows how his much older sister’s nature is. She’s a paradox, the woman. She’s caring and wants the best for her close ones, but at the same time manages to neglect her own well-being altogether. Both Louis and Harry as well as Alice and Louis’ mother had spent countless hours trying to talk some sense into that thick head of hers, but nothing’s worked so far. For a year or so, Alice has had some problems with alcohol. She’s not an alcoholic, Louis doesn’t think so, though they’re not really close with her. He’s always been more up in Harry’s business than Alice’s, due to the age difference between them. But the woman does consume wine too much for both Louis’ and Harry’s liking, though it seems like she doesn’t think so herself.

So, who’s Louis to tell Harry he needs to go home and deal with Alice. The man’s already twenty-two and if Louis didn’t want him to have a proper education, he’d probably tell Harry to get a job and then a flat of his own. In a way he’s glad Harry’s not brought the option up, which is what Louis would’ve done if he were the younger.

“I’m not worried of your manners, H,” Louis shakes his head, sighing, “I’ve just lived alone for years now. I don’t know if I’d be able to work with a roommate. And what would Alice say.”

Harry scoffs, coming even closer and eventually taking Louis’ hands in his, pleading again. “Lou, I know you’d be able to talk her into it. And I’m not a roommate, I’m your nephew! We’re basically related.”

Right. That’s what Louis needed to be reminded of. He turns his head away, groaning while tugging his hands to himself. He can feel Harry’s growing confidence. He knows he’s probably lost this fight already, even though he’s going to be battling with himself for the rest of his days.

“I can try,” Louis mumbles after a while, turning to look at Harry and wondering if the face-splitting smile is worth the trouble he’s causing himself.

“Yeah? Really?” Harry’s basically climbing on his lap while hugging him and Louis’ already regretting this.

“There’ll be rules though,” he warns, awkwardly patting the younger’s back.

The other pulls away and nods, still smiling wide. “Anything.”

Louis takes a deep breath, shaking his head, still not believing he’s doing this. “My room’s off-limits. I need some place where I can be alone with my thoughts,” he gives Harry a stern look, “And no guests staying over without asking me. Don’t wanna walk in on someone shoving a dick down your throat. Not _again_.”

Harry’s cheeks flush at the mention of the memory and Louis works hard to avoid the images from surfacing in his mind. “Got it,” the younger nods, coughing a little.

This decision, it’s going to haunt Louis and he knows that. But there’s this thing, this thing about Harry and Louis. Ever since they were just little boys, the older has been incapable of denying Harry anything. It’s not because the other’s cute and adorable, it’s not because Louis is so protective of him or because they’re just _that_ close. Even now that Harry’s looking at him with those bright eyes, the older miserably thinks it’s the best thing there is. It’s the best thing there is, because he’s bloody in love with his nephew.

-

The sun’s already high up on the sky when Louis drags himself out of the bed the next day. He’d lied unmoving for several minutes before he’d recalled the stupid promise he’d made to Harry. He’s not officially moved in yet, but Louis had called Alice and though the man had hoped his sister would at least be opposed to the idea, life doesn’t seem to be on his side. Alice had easily agreed, worried about her and Harry’s relationship going sour if they don’t take some time apart. They’d agreed to try it out for the summer and then if Louis’ still up for it, Harry could stay for undefined time with his uncle. Needless to say, the older hadn’t been jumping with joy.

It’s Louis’ day off today, however, and there’s no point in dwelling in something that he can’t undo now. Besides, Louis can definitely handle this. He’s been exposed to Harry’s presence since he was six for crying out loud. He’s managed to keep his feelings under the wraps for so long, it comes naturally by now. Louis trudges out of the room with only a t-shirt and briefs on, his hand stuck in his messy hair. He’s just about to text Zayn about picking up his own phone, when his eyes land on a snoring twenty-two-year old.

The man’s right hand is hanging off the old couch, his left one tucked under his cheek, covered in drool. Harry’s jaw is slack and his hair’s a mess, but his exposed back is muscular and also in a weird angle that’s bound to leave kinks. Louis swallows. He’d like to say that he’s not sure when this happened – when exactly did Harry get taller and stronger than Louis, when did the little remains of baby fat disappear altogether, but he can’t. He knows exactly when it happened, how long it took and what parts of the younger’s body have changed. He knows, because he watches him, sometimes. A lot of times.

_Right_. Louis can definitely do this.

He slips into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the fluttery feeling in his stomach as he puts on the electric kettle and makes himself some Yorkshire tea. Zayn beats him to it with the text, telling Louis he’s going to be home after six tonight and it’s up to him when he picks the iPhone up. Louis muses over his agenda for today – which is absolutely empty. It’s in the middle of the week and most of his friends have day jobs, so none of them will be able to hang out. Just as his mind’s starting to drift to Harry and his plans, the said man stumbles in to the kitchen – _literally_ stumbles over some clothes Louis has left at the doorway in a haste.

”Sorry,” he says, but he’s not unapologetic about it, not when Harry’s still not wearing anything else than his black briefs.

”Right,” the younger mumbles and flops on the seat opposite to Louis’.

He’s blinking tiredly and the older knows he’s not completely conscious yet. He _knows_ because Harry’s always been the kind of a person who takes a few minutes to actually get himself together after waking up. It had gotten him in trouble before, after a particularly big night out, Louis recalls from their younger years. ”D’you have tea?”

Louis raises the cup in his hand and nods towards the kettle.

”Can you fix me a cup?” Harry’s voice is gruff from the sleep and he’s blinking up at Louis, pouting.

The older decides, in that moment, that he’s not going to start complying to every single request Harry has for him. It’s not like he _always_ does anyway. It’s mostly the bigger things, things that count. Harry’s twenty-two – he can get his own fucking tea.

”Get it yourself.”

The pout deepens, but as Louis just turns his eyes on his phone, Harry’s forced to move. The younger’s familiar with Louis’ kitchen, he’d helped the other organise it back when he moved in here. He makes his way around it like its his own and the older tries not to think about that. About how well he’d fit in here, maybe.

”Don’t you have work today?” Harry asks as he sits back down with the tea, now more awake.

Louis shakes his head. ”I’m off for today. D’you have classes?”

The younger’s lips pull into a bemused smile, his brows knitting. ”What?” Louis asks, his head pulling back a little.

”It’s summer, Lou,” Harry’s voice is amused, ”I’m on summer break. For two months.”

_Fuck_. Louis hadn’t thought this through, not at all. _Fuck_.

”Right,” he rolls his eyes, casual as ever, ”So, you’re seeing your friends then, yeah?”

Harry shrugs, his eyes intently on Louis. He’s smiling when he pulls his chair next to the older’s, the feet of it scraping the floor in an obnoxious way, and throws his arm around his shoulder. Louis eyes him warily. ”I think we should hang out. We haven’t in a while. Unless you have somewhere to be?”

And yeah, Harry’s not wrong. Well, it’s been more than ’a while’ since they last spent a day together, but he’s not wrong. Louis doesn’t have any specific plans and despite the turmoil inside him, he thinks he’d enjoy himself anyways. ”I have to pick up my phone from Z after six. Until then I’m free.”

Harry grins, patting Louis’ head. ”Great. I’ll just shower real quick, we can go out then.”

”Sure,” the older nods, smiling as Harry leaves the room.

–

They go to the cinema and for a late lunch afterwards. They’re both hardcore movie-watchers and so some of their most meaningful conversations have stemmed from films they’ve watched together or separately. This time is no different, even though the film they saw was mediocre at best. They spend almost two hours at the bistro, talking and laughing while eating. It’s not too shabby for a day-off, Louis thinks. After they take the tube to Zayn’s and it’s a wonder they still resume talking all ride, Harry even animatedly waving his hands around, even though the heat in the car is awful, making the both of them sweat. It takes thirty minutes before they’re out of the station and Louis’ shooting Zayn a text saying they’ll be there in a few minutes.

”So, you still hang out with Zayn then?” Harry asks conversationally, his eyes flicking to Louis from the older’s left side.

”Yeah, of course. He’s my best mate,” Louis laughs, dodging the familiar dent in the pavement. Harry doesn’t know it’s there and almost falls over.

Louis snickers at him. ”Stop laughing,” the younger grumbles, taking a hold of Louis’ forearm to keep steady, ”And I don’t know. We don’t usually talk much about your friends.”

Louis has never really given it any thought, his and Harry’s conversations usually varying from socks to how it would feel like to get to see the Earth from space. But maybe there’s truth to the younger’s words. Louis only has, like, three really close friends besides Harry and they’re all very different from Louis’ nephew.

”Well, I’m still friends with him. And all of my friends. Nothing’s changed on that front,” the older shrugs, but quickly finds himself backtracking, ”Well, actually. I have a new friend. My boss, Liam. He asked me for pints some weeks back and he’s a pretty nice lad, so.”

Harry raises his brows in a suggestive manner, nudging Louis with his elbow. ” _Nice_ , hmm?”

The older scoffs, pushing at the other with a little too much force, but it makes Harry laugh nonetheless. ”Not like that, Harold. He’s my boss, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry purses his lips, tilting his head from left to right. ”Wouldn’t matter to me. He’s fit, isn’t he? You could use a proper fuck, Louis.”

Louis presses his eyes shut, dragging his hand down his face and groans. ”I do _not_ need a fuck, mate. I’ve got it covered, thanks very much,” he shoots daggers at his mischievously smirking nephew and takes the few stairs to Zayn’s front door, ”Besides. Not everyone’s a hoe like you.”

Harry’s hand lands in the back of Louis’ head just as the older’s best friend opens the door. ”Ow. The fuck was that for?” Louis grumbles at the youngest, his eyes still gleaming with mirth.

”For calling me names,” he smiles, angelic as ever, ”Hi, Zayn.”

The raven haired’s black brows are raised as he lets Harry push past him in to the flat and then his dark brown eyes bore into Louis’ blue ones. ”I did not call him names,” the older defends, finally entering as well, ”He _is_ a hoe,” he calls louder, so that Harry can hear him.

A prompt ’ _fuck you_ ’ is heard from somewhere deeper in the flat. ”Hi, to you too,” Zayn murmurs, making his way to the kitchen where he’s already fixed three mugs of tea, Harry having attacked the one with Louis’ grinning face on it.

The thing was a gift, just to piss Zayn off, but it had been used more than Louis intended it to be. He gives it a dissatisfied glance and takes a seat next to Harry. Before the owner of the flat sits down, he fetches Louis’ phone from one of the cupboards and hands it to the older. It looks brand new again, shiny and spotless.

”Thanks, Z,” he nods, his voice grateful as he quickly pushes his SIM back into the phone, ”I owe you one.”

Zayn waves his hand aimlessly, mumbling something about it being okay, but there’s a glint in his eye that tells Louis he actually wants something. ”Spit it out, then,” the older raises his brows.

Briefly Zayn’s eyes flit to Harry, who’s attentively listening to their conversation, but not taking a part in it, and Louis can see his friend contemplating whether he wants to disclose his request in Louis’ nephew’s company. But then he’s gulping down the tea in his mouth and talking again. ”You know Liam, right?”

Louis’ mug stops midway to his mouth, a confused crinkle appearing between his eyebrows. ”My boss, Liam?”

”Yeah,” Zayn nods and Louis thinks he might be blushing, ”D’you have his number? Like, his personal cell.”

The older does have it, in fact. He’d only gotten it three weeks before, but he has it nevertheless, so he nods. He doesn’t like where this is going, but he lets Zayn speak. ”Gimme it.”

No further explanations. Louis’ eyes meet Harry’s amused, smiling ones, before he says anything. ”Uh, why?”

The man on the other side of the table snatches the phone from Louis’ hand back, without a warning, causing some of the tea in the older’s mug to spill. ”Hey, what the fuck! _Zayn_.”

”No questions asked, remember,” the younger’s eyes are dark as he goes through Louis’ phone, presumably sending Liam’s number to himself.

Louis wants to ask so bad, but he can’t, because Zayn’s pulled the ace card. There’s a thing with the two of them and their favours. They’d agreed upon it years ago when Louis had needed Zayn’s help to fix Harry up with someone and when Zayn had asked why, Louis didn’t want to say it out loud. He didn’t want to admit he needed Harry to start spending time with someone else for a change, their closeness having got too much for Louis. After that it was a silent agreement that they wouldn’t ask _why_ if the other didn’t want to tell. So, Louis doesn’t ask, just accepts his phone when Zayn hands it over once more.

Harry’s eyeing them curiously, but he’s not asking anything either. Louis knows the younger never would ask, much too polite to probe into anyone else’s business beside Louis’. The moment passes slowly, but it does and then they’re chatting about Louis and Harry’s day and about Zayn’s latest work, something the youngest is always very keen on to hear about. It goes well, until it doesn’t. The moment shit hits the fan is when Harry’s phone rings and it’s Alice calling. He takes the call on the table, probably thinking it’s just a check-up call, but it’s not.

The youngest’s eyes roll as he turns to look at Louis. ”She wants to know if you’ll drive me to get my stuff. She doesn’t have the time to drive all the way to yours,” then his tone’s annoyed when he replies to something Alice says, ”It’s not that much! Two months, Alice. I’ll be fine with one bag. I’m _twenty-two_ , I know what I need.”

Louis can feel Zayn’s eyes burning a hole on his cheek, but he forces himself to ignore it. ”Yeah, I’ll drive you. Later tonight, okay?”

Harry nods, getting up from his seat. ”I’ll go talk on the balcony,” he mouths, backing away from them.

A heavy silence falls upon the room as soon as Harry’s out of it. Louis can basically hear Zayn’s eyebrow ticking, his jaw straining. He hates his life.

“Wanna explain?” Zayn asks after Harry is out of earshot.

Louis makes a vague noise, pursing his lips. “Not really, no.”

The younger’s giving him an unimpressed look, something that screams _’you’re screwed’_ and don’t Louis know that. He’s fucking knee-deep in shit right now and there’s no undoing it. He’d managed to avoid thinking about it for a whole day now, but it’s not like he can push it away for the next two months. His own week-long holiday starts on Sunday, three days from now, and that’s something Louis hasn’t even dared to poke with a ten-feet pole. How in the hell will he be able to spend a whole week home with Harry there, he hasn’t got the faintest idea.

“Louis,” Zayn tries, his voice taut, “What the fuck is this mess? He’s staying with you for two _months_?”

It’s something about the way the younger gets to him, something in his all-knowing brown orbs. Zayn possesses this weird laser-sharp gaze that cuts into you with such precision, you can’t escape it. It’s been there all the seven years Louis’ known him, and it doesn’t disappoint this time either. The facade crumbles all at once and the desperation seeps into the older’s rambling voice. “I couldn’t say no. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need it, you know that. Alice’s getting worse with the drinking. D’you think I fucking wanted him to move in?”

There’s a moment where Zayn looks like he actually might think so, but it’s soon gone and he seems to feel sorry for Louis instead which isn’t much better. “This ain’t good, mate,” he shakes his head, “You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“Thanks for the encouraging words,” Louis grits darkly, his fringe falling to his eyes. He pushes it to the side and leans back in the chair.

Louis wouldn’t be supportive either, not if the situation was reversed. There’s no one else who knows about Louis’ feelings towards Harry and Zayn wouldn’t know either, if it weren’t for that one drunken night when they’d all hung out together in the same group, years ago. If it weren’t for his best friend’s attentive wallflower qualities, the way he seems to be everywhere and absolutely nowhere to be seen at the same time. It had only taken a few words Louis’d carelessly thrown his nephew’s way – words Harry had laughed at, even – and then Zayn had known. As the asshole he is, he’d actually confronted Louis about it the very next day when the older had been hungover as fuck and Louis tends to get really irritable and defensive when his head’s hurting and he feels nauseous. He’d told in the end and then he’d cried, though they never talk about that. Never.

”Look, Z,” Louis sighs, lowering his voice as he glances at the balcony where Harry’s still absorbed in a heated discussion on the phone, ”I’ve been doing this for over ten years. I know how to not..,” he hesitates and clears his throat, ”To not show it.”

Louis can’t bring himself to say the word ’love’, because he doesn’t want to see the pitying look in Zayn’s eyes. Not now, when he needs the man to back him up one hundred percent. Zayn seems to get this (or he just pities Louis enough to not start chiding him more), nodding. ”Be careful, though. He’s a hoe, Louis, and I mean this in the best and nicest way. Like, he’s literally sex-on-legs and he knows it. Even I can appreciate it and that’s something.”

The older groans at the words, but doesn’t argue – _can’t_ argue because he knows it as well. He knows how Harry is with Louis, with all his closest friends. He’s hands-y and isn’t ashamed of his body, isn’t afraid of walking around in someone else’s apartment stark naked. Louis knows, because he has first-hand experience. But he’s made it through all that for years now. He’ll manage, he’s going to have to.

”’s gonna be fine,” he assures, though his voice isn’t quite as confident as he’d like.

Zayn nods again, offering him a smile that has just a pinch of teasing in it. ”You can always crash here if it gets too much. You know, _frustrating_.”

Harry walks in then, conveniently saving Zayn from a not-so-friendly punch in the arm. ”She kept babbling on and on about manners and whatnot,” the youngest sighs, leaning his chest to Louis’ back, his elbows coming to rest on top of Louis’ shoulders, ”Such a hindrance, that woman.”

The oldest rolls his eyes, trying to poke Harry away from him with his elbow. Instead of moving away, Harry drops his arms and his hands land on Louis’ chest, his own chest and stomach pressed so tightly against Louis that the older can’t get enough leverage to poke him again. ” _You_ are a hindrance.”

Harry snorts, his lips lightly brushing Louis’ ear as his chin lands on the older’s shoulder. ”But you love me,” the younger sing-songs.

Zayn seems amused, but Louis knows him well enough to tell that there’s some worry in there somewhere as well, written in the vivid shades of amber in his eyes. And he can’t blame his best friend. The next two months are going to be a farce on Louis’ end, without a doubt and the worst thing is that he can’t blame anyone else but himself for it. He gives up on trying to push Harry away and leans into his chest. ”Sure. Keep telling yourself that, curly.”

Harry starts on a monologue about how Louis is supposed to let the nickname go now that the younger’s actually cut the said curls off, but it all goes in from the older’s left ear only to come out of the right one. Zayn’s listening to Harry’s words on the opposite side of the table and Louis’ resolve for one day starts to fade away, his Harry-dose having shot up through the roof. He lets his eyes slip shut for a moment, lets himself enjoy the vibrations Harry’s laugh causes in the man’s chest, transferring to Louis’ body with such ease – it’s just for a minute, maybe less, but when he forces his eyes open, Zayn’s looking at him knowingly and Louis realizes how royally he’s actually fucked himself over.

Shit.

–

It’s been three days now and Louis is just about ready to move to Timbuktu. He’s not going to make it through the next week if he’s going to be home. Which he is, because he’s not made any plans with any of his friends, never one to plan ahead, Louis. The house, the place Louis used to call _his_ home, has now become Harry’s. The lease papers still have Louis’ name neatly scribbled in them, but in reality the flat’s not his at all. Harry’s everywhere. He’s in the kitchen through his incenses that Louis has always hated, because they’re too strong and he’s in the bathroom through his scented, soft-pink candles and his various different body lotions and shampoos. And he’s literally in the living space, on Louis’ couch every morning Louis gets up to go to work and every afternoon he comes home. In the past three days, Louis has come home to a sleeping, drooling Harry, a loud, day-drinking Harry and a naked Harry. All of the three above are not states Louis actually hates, but he’s soon going to if he’ll spend the seven days home all day every day with this man. He’s going to have to hate them so that he won’t start loving them just a little too much.

It’s not all bad, though, Louis must admit in all fairness. Harry’s been keeping the flat clean ever since he arrived, even making sure he’s keeping Louis’ things in order. He’s washed both of their clothes and properly vacuumed and washed the floors, which hasn’t happened in months, possibly years. He cooks dinner every evening for them and Louis had almost forgotten how good homemade food actually tastes. And it’s true Louis has been living alone since he was eighteen, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate Harry’s company. It’s been quite nice to have someone next to him commenting on the soaps Louis watches, to have someone to share his day’s events with. It’s nothing special, but it’s nice. And Harry’s someone Louis can be comfortable around, so it’s not like he actually bothers Louis in that sense.

Today’s been a good day. Louis’ off from work already and it’s a sunny day, his holiday has just begun mere hours ago. It’s one of those rare England days where the sun’s actually so hot and burning you can tan. And that’s what they’ve been doing for the past hour or so, both laying down on the small patch of lawn Louis owns, a blanket spread underneath them. The city’s noises don’t quite reach where the man lives, his flat located far away enough from the center of London. It’s pretty quiet, somewhere a little way down the road there’s children laughing, but it doesn’t bother them.

It’s hot, though, and even though the feeling of a sheen layer of sweat on Louis’ body is nice, somehow reminding him of that one time he and Zayn went to Spain for a week, he’s starting to feel a little sticky and dehydrated. Harry had of course brought two big bottles of water outside, but they’d downed them already, so for Louis to improve his state would require for him to get up. He doesn’t move and inch, but opens his mouth to speak. ”Haz?”

He doesn’t get a reply other than some incoherent humming so he blindly pokes somewhere on his right. ”Harry.” No reply. ”Harry.” A mumble of some sort. ” _Haz_.”

”What?” the younger finally whines, pushing Louis’ finger away from his love-handle.

”Can you refill the bottles?”

There’s a beat of silence, before Harry’s big, warm palm shoves him on the shoulder. ”Fuck you for waking me up for that,” the younger curses, but Louis can feel how he shifts beside him as he rubs his sore arm, ”Just get it yourself, you’ve got two working feet of your own.”

Louis turns his head to the side, finally peeling his eyes open. Harry’s already staring at him, the taller’s brows are furrowed and he looks a little annoyed, but it’s nothing serious judging by the way the left corner of Harry’s lips keeps tugging, so Louis pushes forward. ”I just started me holiday, H,” he pleads, ”Can’t I rest for _one_ day?”

Harry narrows his eyes, but pushes himself up. ”You little shit. I hate you,” he grumbles as he stalks inside the flat, giving Louis the finger as the older yells a ’ _thanks sweetheart’_ after him.

With a content sigh Louis closes his eyes again and tucks his hands under his head, letting the sun wash over him. He must doze off, because he feels groggy when he hears Harry’s voice come from above him next. The younger’s tone is coaxing as he calls Louis’ name and in all honesty, the older should’ve known something is off the minute he hears the sickly-sweet voice. Alas, he doesn’t. Instead he opens his eyes, gullible as he is, only to be met with ice cold water pouring down on his face, making him jump up from the blanket like he’s been burned.

” _Harry_ ,” he yells, startled and scrambling to his feet.

Louis’ heart is beating with the surprise, but Harry’s just doubled over, his left hand holding his stomach that rumbles with laughter while his right one takes support on his knee. Something childish and much like vengeance flares inside Louis as he takes two quick strides towards the younger, picking up the other cold bottle from the ground on his way. Harry barely has the time to widen his eyes and take a small step back, small plead escaping his lips, when Louis’ arm is hooked around his neck and he’s splashing the water down on the taller’s hair and smooth-shaven chest, Harry squawking and writhing under his firm grip.

The laughter only spills out of Louis when Harry’s cursing, the words so foul Louis can’t help but release his hold. His eyes are crinkled at the corners and he can feel the pure joy running in his veins at the way Harry pushes the damp hair out of his eyes and gasps for air. ”For fuck’s sake, you’re ruthless,” the younger exclaims, but he’s laughing as well.

” _Me?”_ another laugh bubbles out of Louis as he waves the half empty bottle in his hand, ”You made it rain on me first, you twat.”

There’s a mean gleam in Harry’s eyes as he suddenly bends down and picks up his own bottle, still mostly full. To Louis’ luck, his nephew has never been the most graceful of them all and he almost face-plants, giving the older a chance to take some distance, preparing himself. It’s futile, it turns out, because Harry’s also quite fast and strong, and he’s gripping Louis’ arm in a dash, water flying between them and it’s actually pretty fun. Louis isn’t sure if he’s getting more water on Harry or himself, but they’re both laughing and cursing and throwing half-hearted insults at each other while trying to keep upright on the slippery grass.

Eventually they run out of water, but by then they’re both breathless and radiating with happiness and the cold the water has caused. ”Fucker,” Louis breathes out, trying to yank his arm away from Harry, but the younger holds on tighter.

”Tosser,” he counters, throwing the bottle away, his free hand now tickling Louis’ side mercilessly.

The bottle in Louis’ hand falls as he tries to wriggle away, tries to stomp on Harry’s huge feet, but he can’t escape and soon he won’t be breathing either. ”Harry, I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, but the younger only tickles him more, moving from his sides to under his chin where Louis’ extra ticklish.

Louis’ hands grip on Harry’s waist in an attempt to put enough pressure on them that Harry has to let go due to the pain, but there’s not enough strength in his arms to succeed. The taller’s laughing just as loud as Louis, entirely enjoying the upper hand he’s managed to steal. Louis doesn’t realize he’s actually, truly fucked before he somehow takes note of how Harry’s strong muscles move under his touch on the younger’s hips, until he suddenly feels how warm Harry’s hands are on his neck and ribs, his touch light and teasing. That’s when it goes to shit.

Louis is breathless, but it’s for a whole other reason now. He’s never been turned on by tickling, he’s not into that, not like that, but now – now Harry’s shining, green eyes and his huge dimples are making Louis feel weak in the knees, his completely platonic touch lighting a torch inside the older. The feeling starts from where Harry’s hands meet Louis’ skin, but from there it spreads out like the plague and Louis thinks his eyes must be hooded, his traitorous dick already filling up.

_Fuck_.

Harry’s still unaware of the change in Louis, yet to notice how the older’s body has gone pretty slack in his arms, how he’s not fighting to get away anymore and the laughter has reduced to breathy giggles and something else, something that’s scarily close to moaning.

Louis pulls away, so quickly he nearly slips and falls, but he manages to steady himself. Harry’s laughter doesn’t die out, just gets a lot more controlled, his eyes still shining at Louis and his wet muscles glistening under the sunlight. _Fuck_ , he looks hot, like a fucking candy cane and Louis can’t watch this. He’s not shagged anyone in two months at least, not dated anyone in a year. Now that Harry’s been under his roof, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to wank either, too scared of the younger walking in on him. Louis sucks in a breath, subconsciously fixing his shorts and he’s not sure, but he thinks Harry’s eyes flicker to where his hand is, but the younger’s still grinning wide and Louis hopes he didn’t notice.

”I’ll, uh,” the older breathes, a small laugh tumbling out of him, ”The water. I actually really need water.”

Harry waves him off and Louis basically sprints into the bathroom attached to his room, locking the door behind. The surface is cool against his suddenly sweaty back. He’s the worst fucking uncle, but there’s no helping it. The guilty thoughts try to appear, but just as Louis has become good at ignoring his feelings, he’s gotten good at ignoring the accusatory voice that’s been living inside him longer than he can even remember. Easily he slips the waistband of his shorts and briefs down enough to free his cock, letting it lie against his stomach. He’s hard and it’s embarrassing that he’s actually twenty-six – not a bloody teenager – but he can’t handle the urge.

A shaky breath slips past his lips as his fingers circle around himself, another one escapes through his nose as he spreads the precum with his thumb to make the slide of his hand easier. It’s fucking ridiculous, he thinks, but adds pressure to his hold, right at the base of his throbbing cock and tries to settle on a familiar rhythm, one that his wrist has gotten used to during the years he’s done this to himself. The feel of his fingers isn’t enough, it’ll never be when it comes to this, but Louis squeezes his eyes shut and despite the images of Harry and his decently carved abs sentencing him to spend a life time in hell, he still thinks about them. He lets the younger man’s bum and his perfect, plump lips invade his mind as his hand works on him, pace still steady and even. Louis can still feel it on his hips where Harry’s hands were pressed just minutes ago and his insides twist pleasantly as he thinks of those exact hands wrapping around him, pressing tightly against his lower back.

His mind’s awry, has been for years, and so it’s not a surprise to Louis where it wanders, his cock twitching between his slick, short fingers. Despite it being a hundred percent stupid idea, Louis still takes a hold of the image in his mind, the memory still fresh like it was yesterday: Harry on his knees, his large hands seizing some guy’s hips Louis had never even heard the name of and his raw, bitten lips wrapped around the other’s cock, drool dribbling down his chin. It doesn’t take much more, just Louis picturing those lips around him, those hands on him and he’s coming, something terribly big coiling in his lower stomach and his hand swimming in his semen.

Louis’ breath is ragged, he’s a mess and he can’t even feel bad. He can’t bring himself to care right now, his love be wrong as it is, he’s just a human and Harry’s body is damn near perfect, with all of his four nipples and oddly soft love handles. Louis comes down from the high eventually, his body gaining some of its strength back and he moves to wash his hands after pulling up both his pants. He takes a gulp of water from the tap as well, splashing some on his hot face. In the mirror, as he meets his own gaze, he sees the effect his nephew has on him: his cheeks are flushed the same way his torso is, his eyes are bleary and he looks a little more lost than he did three minutes ago. These moments are rare, occurring more scattered year by year, but when it happens it does scare him a little. It’s been months now, since this last happened and Louis can’t even remember what propelled it, but it had happened and Louis hadn’t talked to Harry in days. It hadn’t mattered then, the younger hadn’t noticed a thing. It had been much harder when they were younger, when the older was still constantly horny and saw Harry much more frequently. Sometimes, Louis thinks, Harry might’ve given him an odd look when the smaller hadn’t lied quite as close while watching a movie or had swatted Harry’s hands away when he tried to hug him tightly. Now, though.

_Right_ , Louis thinks as he examines his reflection.

He gets himself together with a couple slaps to his cheeks and a mental prep talk, and exits the bathroom after some minutes. Louis finds Harry lounging on their damp blanket, his feet crossed at the ankles as he’s singing one of _Kodaline’s_ songs. The older has to avert his gaze from the other’s body, but even still heat rises to his cheeks as he slumps down next to him, sitting with his legs spread out. Harry’s eyes light up when Louis arrives, his elbow poking Louis’ thigh gently but repeatedly. ”Where’s the water, Lou?”

The older scoffs, pushing Harry’s arm away. ”I drank some. You didn’t ask me to bring any.”

Harry gawks at him, shaking his head. ”You utter shit,” he mutters, but his lips are quirking up already, ”You must really hate me.”

Louis snorts at that and bitterly thinks that Harry has no idea. He finally meets the younger’s green eyes and pushes his own still damp fringe out of his eyes. ”Go get your own water, curly.”

When the impish man gets up, grinning like he usually is, Louis can’t help looking after him. Harry’s hips sway as he goes and he’s singing again. The older’s eyes only briefly graze the pert bum and long, long legs, before he removes them and lies down again. ”I don’t hate you,” he mumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes.

_He certainly doesn’t hate Harry._

–

On Tuesday Louis comes home from a pint with Zayn and he’s feeling particularly good and light. He’s still got bunch of days off and he’d made plans with his friends to go clubbing on Thursday. It’s been a while since they went out together, Louis’ work schedule having been a little crazy lately. He’s got some money saved up, though, so now he can drink without a worry of wasting everything. He’s in a good mood, until he steps into the kitchen to eat something.

Usually, the food waiting for him would make him happy, he’s gotten used to it already even though it’s only been days. The food’s there and it smells amazing, and it’s not what makes Louis halt in his movements. It’s the fact that today he’s not greeted with a cheeky grin or an anecdote, but instead with a sight of a sad nephew, his body slumped over the counter, phone twirling between his fingers. Louis notices his eyes are red-rimmed right away and then he’s worried. _Of course he is._

”H? You okay?” he asks tentatively, taking two steps closer.

Harry turns to look at Louis, the younger’s movements slow enough to tell Louis he’d heard him come in. To Louis’ eye he looks miserable, but it might just be him being dramatic. ”’m fine, just,” he shrugs, his eyes back on the phone in his hands, ”Will.”

Ah.

Louis doesn’t really want to ask, not only because he’s jealous – he’ll always be jealous of people that get closer to Harry than he does – but also because he’s done this with the younger a million times. He’s had this conversation several times, he’s learned the ins and outs of what problems the pair’s relationship has, but still, he’s forced to stay impartial. Just because he can’t risk looking like a jealous fucking idiot. Louis had once told Harry he should leave Will, but back then he hadn’t known how much his nephew needs the other man. Will’s two years older than Harry and he’s an alright lad, but he’s jealous – he’s worse than Louis could ever be. He reins his boyfriend in all the time, but some days it gets worse. Harry’s a hands-y person, he’s touchy and Will doesn’t like it. Sometimes it strains their relationship. Louis doesn’t think it should. But then again, no one’s asking what he thinks. He’s just an uncle, a friend.

”Wanna talk about it?” Louis offers, coming to rest on the counter beside his nephew.

Harry makes a vague noise of denial, his eyelids blinking. ”He’s just being an arse about things that won’t change,” the younger shrugs again, ”I won’t change.”

”You don’t have to,” Louis says, his voice quiet and his eyes trained on Harry.

It sort of kills the older to see how much this weighs the other down. Louis knows how much Harry has to fight to be himself at home with his mother and it pains him to see that he has to do it with his boyfriend as well. But it’s not Louis’ place to tell him what to do. He can give advice, he can comfort the younger, but it’s not his place to give him instructions on relationships. Louis and Zayn had agreed upon it a long time ago, and that’s a boundary Louis wants to keep. And besides, he knows Harry has a friend, a really good friend, Niall, who’ll come in between the couple if it gets too much. Louis knows that, but right now it doesn’t do much to ease his worries.

”I know I don’t,” Harry nods after a long time. He looks torn, still, but Louis doesn’t push the topic.

The older knows it’ll do no good talking about this, knows it will be neither here nor there, if they do go into it. So he places his hand on Harry’s back and gives it a gentle stroke, working up a smile on his lips. ”I’ll eat and then we’ll watch a movie. Something easy, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t have to say thank you, because Louis can see it in his eyes when he turns to look at the older. ”I’ll go pick something.”

Eventually they make it on the couch with Louis’ laptop on the couch table. They end up watching _Dirty Dancing_ , just because Harry thinks Patrick Swayze is hot and he wants to see something hot. Louis pretends to be offended and then Harry’s throwing all these ridiculous compliments at him, like that his eyes are blue like the lake Louis’ childhood house had in the backyard or that his body’s steaming like a bacon on a grill. That’s where Louis tells him to shut up and watch the movie. They’re sitting close to each other, but not quite touching. There’s nothing unusual about that, but Louis somehow feels like Harry’s wrapped up in himself more than he normally is, and it makes him gnaw on his lower lip.

Baby and Johnny are dancing on the screen when Louis, smoothly or awkwardly – depends on how you look at it – guides his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him close. The older’s determined to keep his gaze on the screen, even though the lines the characters are throwing around don’t stick with him. He can feel Harry’s surprise on his body, but the younger says nothing, after a while shifting closer to Louis, their sides pressed together. Louis tries not to think about it, but with the movie and Harry’s warmth right there, it’s kind of inevitable that he does.

The younger man’s hair is tickling his chin and only now Louis notices he’s actually gently stroking Harry’s shoulder with his thumb. Harry’s leaning his head on Louis and so the older can feel his every breath. It’s calming. Not something they’ve done in years, though Louis isn’t sure why really. It’s not like they’re awkward about touching each other – quite the opposite. There’s been a few occasions where someone who doesn’t know them well has thought they’re a couple because of their body language. But cuddling while watching a movie – that probably hasn’t happened since Louis was twenty-two and Harry only eighteen. The taller man still fits against him the way he did all those years ago, and that’s the thought Louis so determinedly tries to push away, but it keeps coming back.

Harry’s firm against him, he’s real and he’s breathing. Louis can smell the honey scented shampoo he uses and can hear Harry whispering the lines of the movie. It feels undeniably nice, comfortable. It’s not often Louis lets himself think about the love aspect of his feelings, lust usually much more out of control, and even that he can manage pretty well. The love, he’s learned to live with in the span of years they’ve spent together. He’s gotten used to seeing Harry date men and women, he’s gotten used to Harry talking about those people and the feelings he has for them. It’s usually when the man’s drunk, but either way. Louis dates people, has loved other people and isn’t head-over-heels for Harry, he doesn’t think he is, because he can imagine a future where he marries someone else, though it hurts. Somehow he just always ends up back with Harry, back with the feelings he’s not supposed to have. Louis knows how it works and so he barely ever lets his brain get fooled by his heart, though. It’s good like that. That’s how most days are for Louis.

But there are times when Harry’s calling him up in the dead of night, he’s delirious with the alcohol in his blood and he always calls Louis. And the older picks him up, wherever he is – how far away, how bad in a shape doesn’t matter. Those times Harry talks freely and many times it hits a little too close to home. When Louis’ shitfaced like that, it’s Harry he pines after and it’s Zayn who listens to him. But Harry talks about whoever he’s dating then and it’s a bit shit to be honest. But Louis listens, despite the rousing feeling of love in his chest. He listens, _because_ he loves Harry. Usually, Harry’s gone the next morning, but the night’s are Louis’ favourite part anyhow. He gets to watch closely, the way Harry’s chest rises up with each breath. He gets to touch the man’s cheek and gets to tell him how he feels, without the fear of the younger hearing him. Those times his love gets a little wild, falling all over the place, but it’s right back in the locked box the following morning and it does barely any harm.

Right now, though, Harry’s pressed up against him and he smells good and feels soft in the emotional kind of way. And Louis, too, feels the love he’s always hiding. It doesn’t feel wrong now, with the sun still somewhat up outside the window. It doesn’t feel stealthy, doesn’t feel like a sin. Not that Louis cares about sins, but well. It doesn’t feel _right_ either, but it doesn’t claw at Louis’ chest along with guilt. Now it’s just there, making him feel warm and comfortable. It’s been years since he’s last felt like this about his own feelings. Harry nuzzles closer then, sighing contently.

”This ’s nice,” he says with a quiet voice, his tone tentative like he’s testing out the ice with a stick. Louis feels him.

The older hums in agreement, his fingers gently tapping on Harry’s shoulder. It’s not many words, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Louis to know that they’ve crossed a threshold to a new room – or maybe to an old room, a place they’d forgotten they used to visit. It’s good and it’s safe, something both have always enjoyed, so he doesn’t feel bad about it. Harry’s hand comes to rest on Louis’ thigh, stroking there idly.

Somewhere near the end of the film, they’re both feeling drowsy and Louis thinks he’s already fallen asleep once. It’s barely seven, but he’s exhausted, so he allows his eyes to stay shut. Harry turns under his arm, though, and his eyes open halfway. The younger’s looking at him, his green orbs tired as well. He’s smiling, still. ”I like this,” he drawls, ”We should do it more often.”

Louis thinks they’re not talking about the movie and it makes something warm bubble inside him. He smiles back down at Harry. ”Sure. ’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Harry rubs his cheek against Louis’ arm like a cat, something unbelievably fond swimming in the older’s chest. He bites down on his lip, gaze flickering to the screen. ”Thank you.”

The taller man is basically asleep, his words soft and drowned against Louis’ skin, but the other hears them loud and clear. He pushes the lid of the laptop shut with his foot and fixes his position as carefully as he can. When he falls asleep, the last thing he feels is Harry’s lips mumbling something on his skin, his damp lips sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

–

Wednesday was supposed to be Louis’ day. He’s only got this one week off this summer and all he really wanted was one day where can just lie in his bed, watch some crappy movies and binge on crisps and chips, maybe. Louis doesn’t get his day.

He’s barely managed to open his eyes, when Harry’s barging in and jumping not only on Louis’ bed, but also very much on Louis’ back. ”Ow, fuck,” the older shrills, his voice cracking. ”What the hell?”

”Wakey, wakey,” Harry sing songs from above him, his tone much too cheery and _loud_ , ”We’re going out.”

Louis pushes the younger away from him and nuzzles his face back in to the pillow. ”We’re not.”

The older can feel Harry shifting on the bed, lying down and soon enough his hand’s gripping Louis’ left side, and the smaller man’s pulled into a cuddle. His eyes shoot open. ” _What_ are you doing?”

The younger hums, his lips close to the nape of Louis’ neck and it’s still early, too early for the older to have this. To have Harry there, touching him. Harry doesn’t seem bothered by the way Louis goes stiff in his arms, just nuzzles his nose closer. ”I’ll just stay here then. _All_ day,” he chatters, tone light as ever, ”And I’ll keep talking. Like, for hours.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. This is something Harry used to do when they were still both young, like just children. Louis had never been a morning person, while the younger always woke up at the crack of dawn and had half his chores done by the time he kicked Louis out of bed. Sometimes, when they’d have a holiday or something, Harry wanted Louis to get up early as well, insisting they shouldn’t waste a minute. Of course the older didn’t want to move a muscle, so usually Harry would cling to him like a koala bear and then he’d talk Louis’ ear off about something like knitting or the expensive China Louis’ mum kept in the cabinet in their living room. To this date, the older’s pretty sure Harry had only ever researched all that shit just to pester Louis out of bed or to comply whenever need be.

”I’m not going anywhere, Harold,” Louis huffs, but enjoys the feeling of Harry’s warm hand pressing against his stomach, stroking there gently, ”’m tired.”

He can feel Harry shake his head. ”But I’ve bought tickets for us,” the younger whines, ”I promise you’ll like it. If we do this today, I won’t bother you for the rest of your holiday.”

And that’s something Louis could get behind. ”Is that a promise?”

”No,” Harry laughs, cheeky, ”I can try though.”

Louis rolls his eyes and lets them fall shut again. ”I’m not going.”

The other’s arm stays around him, gently rubbing his stomach, slowly lulling Louis back to sleep. Almost at least. Before he can actually grasp the remains of sleep he had, Harry’s moving closer, his lips brushing the shell of Louis’ ear. ”Louis,” he whines, the movement of his hand stilling, ” _Please?”_

At that moment, the smaller man contemplates on hitting Harry square in the face. He also thinks about just ending his own life, because who the _fuck_ told him to let his tease of a nephew move in. Louis thinks about all the thousands and then thousands of days when he’s been woken up by his alarm clock and somehow every single one of those times seems better than this. ”I bought the tickets myself,” Harry says, then, ”My own money, too.”

”You’re not cute,” Louis snorts, put rips his eyes open nonetheless, ”You’re a fucking menace, ’s what you are.”

”So you’re coming?” the younger’s voice is cheery again and even though Louis can’t see him, he knows he’s smiling.

The sleep’s lost on Louis already anyhow and if he doesn’t want to end up with an awkward boner while Harry cuddles him, then he probably has to. ”You’re making breakfast,” he crumbles and pulls away from the strong arm around him.

”Whatever you want, Lou,” Harry chirps from the bed.

Louis decidedly avoids looking at Harry on the bed as he picks up a hoodie and pulls it on. Then he trudges out of the room, middle-finger raised high and muttered curses under his breath accompanied with Harry’s borderline gleeful giggles from the bedroom.

–

Okay. Maybe Louis doesn’t actually _hate_ it that he went with Harry, but it’s not like he’s going to tell the younger that. It has got nothing to do with the man anyway, but rather the activity. It’s been such a long time, years probably, since they last went to a planetarium. Louis thinks it was still back in Manchester. It was a place to escape, then, relatively cheap and just dark enough for either one of them to cry without anyone seeing. Louis hasn’t thought about those times, about going to a planetarium after he’d moved away from Doncaster and it’s kind of nice that his nephew even remembers their own La La Land.

They go to the Peter Harrison Planetarium, neither one has ever been there but it’s planetarium just as any other. Harry wants to see two of the shows that are currently running and Louis lets himself be pulled into both of them. He’d never been especially interested in space or whatever, but the displays are beautiful and calming in a way. And again, it’s something that reminds him of the bond he shares with Harry. Sometimes it’s easy to forget just _how_ close they are, with their lives being so separate nowadays. The four-year age difference doesn’t feel as big now as it did five or six years ago, but it’s inevitable that they’re doing different things now, despite living in the same city.

Harry’s mesmerized by both of the shows and Louis thinks it’s just really nice to spend some time together, doing things they used to do. The younger seems to feel the same way, because after the planetarium they go bowling – a special treat they only got to do on birthdays and special days alike.

”Doesn’t this feel a little wrong, though?” Louis teases as he’s pulling on the ugly shoes.

Harry’s stretching beside him and cracking his fingers, as if that’ll somehow improve his performance. ”What?”

”It’s not a special occasion,” the older points out, getting up as well and following his nephew to their assigned lane. ”I feel like we’re cheating a bit.”

The taller man shrugs, grinning happily while picking up a stark pink ball. ”Let’s just say this is to make up for all the missed birthdays.”

Louis raises his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. ”I don’t think I’ve missed any of yours, though.”

Harry rolls the ball towards the tenpins and the older can immediately see he’s been bowling plenty times without him. His stance is much stronger than Louis remembers it being, the way he hurls the ball much more confident and concentrated.

”No,” Harry shakes his head as he gets up from the slight crouch, aiming a small smile at the older, ”You’ve never missed any. But let’s pretend.”

Eight of the ten pins are swept away, the two that Harry missed being brought back to their places, while Louis takes a step closer, picking up ball for himself. The taller hurls his ball again – knocking over both pins – before Louis reaches his gaze again and answers.

Louis wiggles his brows. ”Cheating already, I see.”

The younger grins at him, unapologetic, and then plants himself down on the soft bench to watch Louis hurl his own blue ball. The older hasn’t been to bowling many times, heavily against all and any work-gatherings where you’re supposed to enhance the team spirit and whatnot, so his ball doesn’t knock down more than five tenpins. Harry laughs at him. ”You suck.”

Louis gives the man an unimpressed look and hurls the ball again – all of the five remaining pins fall over. He turns around, victory written on his smug face. ”What was that?”

And after that, it’s an actual game. Louis has always been more competitive, but Harry’s never given him any win without a fight. Their game lasts long enough, both ordering some pints while playing and though they’re actually against each other, they laugh a lot. It’s entertaining to watch Harry stumble over his own long legs after he’s downed two glasses and Louis doesn’t even mind it when the younger makes him pay for their drinks. It’s a perfect summer day, to be honest.

”It’s gonna rain,” Harry muses as they slip out of the building, back in their own shoes.

”Let’s get home.”

They make their way to the closest Tube station, chatting about everything and nothing on the way there. The station’s packed as per usual, but the two fit themselves in one of the humid cars, only to get off after three stops and changing lines. The other one’s a lot emptier and they manage to snatch opposite seats.

”Did you have fun?” Harry asks after Louis pushes his phone back in to the pocket of his shorts.

For his face’s sake, the older should probably say no, but the other looks hopeful instead of smug, so he nods. ”Yeah. Was fun to do something we haven’t done in so long.”

”Yeah,” Harry admits, leaning back in his seat, the car rattling and rocking under them, ”You’re a shit bowler, though.”

Louis did lose, but by only like four points or something. ”Whatever,” he murmurs, his lips quirking up.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just beams at the older, his green eyes shining. They don’t talk much after that, both a little tired from the heat and hunger, neither having eaten much today. It’s alright, though, because the day has already been a really good one. It’s been such a long time since they’ve done something just for the sake of spending time together. They go shopping for Christmas presents every year, but that’s only because they usually buy something together for Louis’ mother Vivian and Alice. Harry sometimes stops by at the pub, but it’s not really doing anything, mostly just Louis working and bantering with the younger whenever he gets the chance to actually stay put.

Louis finds himself already wondering if he could take Harry somewhere instead. Maybe they could ride the London Eye together with the tourists. The older knows for a fact Harry’s never been and he hasn’t either, always just scoffed when he’s seen the long line and the outrageous prices. But he thinks the other man would probably like it, just because then he can tell people he’s done it. Louis thinks it’s sort of cute, really.

”Hey,” he says when they finally get off the Tube, ”We should go to the London Eye someday.”

Harry chuckles, pushing his hands in to the pockets of his yellow shorts. ”Sure. If you pay.”

The older rolls his eyes, but smiles nevertheless. ”Yeah. I’ll pay.”

–

Zayn had basically shot Louis dead with his glare when he’d entered the pub, with Harry in tow. Louis hadn’t felt bad, because he only took the younger with because he needed cheering up, still at sixes and sevens with Will. Harry had been pumped all day about going out and even Zayn’s dissatisfied glances couldn’t take that away from Louis. They’d shuffled into the booth where his best friend had been sitting with Calvin, Stan, Leigh-Anne and someone Louis had never met before, a blonde guy called Emmett, about an hour ago. By now they’re all pleasantly buzzed, conversation flowing between them freely and Louis has figured out why exactly Zayn was as apprehensive as he was.

Emmett’s right at Louis’ side, been there all the time, chatting him up. Louis doesn’t mind Zayn fixing him up with people, he trusts his best mate’s taste. And this time, too, the 25-year-old man is fairly attractive: his skin is smooth, the blue in his eyes competing with Louis’ own and his jawline’s sharp. He’s got the smile, too, and Louis’ pretty sure a few men have been swept off their feet by it. So, Louis doesn’t mind this time either. He’s downed four pints already and he lets Emmett press against him, his hand resting on Louis’ thigh. The older has already decided it’s nothing serious he’s after, but with Harry living on his couch, he could use a shag, just a one-time thing to release some of the pressure.

”So you’re a sommelier, then?” Louis raises his brows, impressed.

”Yeah,” Emmett nods, ”And you work at a pub. Look at that. We’re basically a match made in heaven.”

It’s probably flirting, Louis thinks it is, though it’s not very good. He laughs nonetheless and bats his eyelashes. He can see Harry holding back a laugh on the other side of the table, but he doesn’t meet the younger’s gaze. ”So, _Emmett_. Are you gonna join us to the club?”

A familiar spark of excitement flashes in the blonde’s eyes. ”Is that an invitation?”

Louis shrugs, taking a sip from his glass. ”I’ve been dying to dance for a while now.”

And yeah, it’s an invitation. An invitation that Emmett takes up gladly and soon enough they’re filtering out of the pub to walk the few blocks to the club Stan had picked out. Louis chats with Emmett all the way there, only giving Harry a quick glance to see how he’s doing, but he looks content with talking to Leigh-Anne, his head thrown back in a laugh. The club’s pretty full, but they get in easily enough, pushing their way to the bar to order shots. That’s where it begins, the real fun.

They do a lot more shots, they laugh and dance in a group and Louis finally feels like he’s properly on a holiday. He dances with his arms around Leigh’s neck and Zayn buys them all a round of drinks, already way past the point of coherence. The mass around them gets thicker, people more intoxicated, _Louis_ more intoxicated. Eventually he’s drank enough to have the nerve to wedge his way between Emmett’s legs, enough to pull the man’s arms around him, to push his back against the broad chest of the younger’s.

Louis can feel the pent up frustration inside him and he’s almost euphoric when Emmett’s hands rest on his hips, rolling them against his crotch. The older can feel his hard length against his bum and though he’s not hard himself, it feels good. It feels liberating, he feels free. The music’s loud, Louis’ heart pumping in the rhythm of it and Emmett’s lips and teeth are grazing his neck, sucking at the skin beneath his ear. It’s hard to force his eyes open and he almost regrets it when he does manage.

Harry’s in front of them, though Leigh-Anne and some bloke are blocking some of the view. Louis’ nephew is dancing on his own, completely lost in the music, in the alcohol. The smaller man’s eyes open wider, suddenly feeling much more attentive. Harry’s wearing tight, black jeans and a silky, half-buttoned shirt that’s see-through. Louis vaguely remembers buying it for Harry. He looks practically divine with his head thrown back, his hands basically feeling himself, roaming on his body. The man’s eyes are half-lidded as his body moves along with the music, his hips rolling like a stripper’s and Louis can feel himself thickening up with the pressure behind him, with the hands on him. It gets worse when Harry squats down and Louis can _see_ the pole that should be between his legs – unintentionally his hips push back harder and Emmett moans into his ear. The older man doesn’t even care, because then his nephew’s up again and his eyes land on Louis. The matching moan that ripples through Louis only happens when the left side of Harry’s lips quirk up, something like mirth in the younger’s eyes.

Two seconds and Louis comes back to himself, somewhat. He steps out of Emmett’s arms, but is mindful enough to tell the man he’s going to grab a smoke. He leaves before the younger has the chance to offer him his company. It feels like a small eternity before he’s outside in the chilly London night, leaning against the brick wall with his eyes shut, trying to stop his head from spinning. _Fucking idiot_ , his drunken brain shouts at him as he tries to even out his breath. Louis suddenly understands Zayn’s hostile look from earlier. He’d made a mistake.

”Here you are,” a much too familiar, giggly voice comes from way too close.

Louis’ eyes fly open and after they focus again, he sees just _how_ close. Harry’s right in front of him, gleefully giggling as his hands are supporting his weight by leaning on the wall on either side of Louis’ head. _Shit_. ”Here I am.”

Harry’s so close Louis can smell the alcohol in his breath and somehow that turns him on even more. He can’t erase the picture of the younger rolling his hips and it all goes to hell right when Harry’s right hand comes to rest on Louis’ hip. ”’m so drunk,” the taller giggles, ”’m so happy drunk, ’s ridiculous.”

Louis doesn’t feel much more sober, but he’s suddenly so fucking aware of his own body, of Harry’s body. His nephew’s head is lolling a little and he’s grinning dopily, looks content. Louis can see his smooth chest and the tattoos on it, could touch them so easily it’s not fair. He tries to lean closer to the wall, but Harry staggers a little and then he’s closer, too, both of his hands on Louis’ responsive body.

”You’re the best ever,” Harry mumbles, pecking Louis’ cheek and then his shoulder over the t-shirt he’s wearing.

”’m not,” Louis laughs out, breathily, ”You’re drunk, though.”

”So are you,” Harry points out, his voice a little muffled against Louis, ”But you had _fun_ in there.”

The taller raises his head again, now smirking down at the older. Louis huffs, trying to ignore the fact that Harry’s fingers are now stroking his hip with a little pressure, just enough to tease him. ”Right.”

”You did,” Harry insists and pushes Louis against the wall harder when his feet take a wobbly step forward. ”I know you did, Lou.”

The older wonders – he honest to God wonders if Harry’s aware of how close they are. If he’s aware of how his left hand’s still kneading the smaller’s skin through the thin material of his t-shirt, aware of how his right hand’s rubbing at Louis’ neck. He feels sweaty and bothered, his dick straining against his jeans and it’s all so surreal Louis just sort of wants to disappear. As he glances down, he sees that there’s barely a few inches between their crotches and really, it’s just a matter of time when they brush together. Louis can only hope Harry’s drunk enough not to notice.

”Did not,” he stubbornly mumbles and his eyes get stuck on the sheen layer of sweat above Harry’s upper lip.

They’re staring into each other’s eyes now, even though Louis’ gaze isn’t stable in any way. The younger’s glistening with the sweat he’d worked up while dancing, his green eyes are glassy, but happy. He’s still smiling, even though Louis’ pretty sure his own brows are knitted with worry. His heart is still beating away in his chest in a rapid speed, his hands slack beside his high-alert body.

Suddenly, there’s that mischievous look in Harry’s eyes, the one Louis knows will end with him embarrassed. For someone younger than him, Harry’s got his ways to make the other hot under the collar. And then the taller’s leaning closer, his lips sweeping over Louis’ cheek and touching his ear, albeit unintentionally.

”I can _see_ it, alright,” Harry drawls, his breath tickling Louis where it hits him in the curve of his neck, ”’m not a kid anymore. I can see it and I know you. You liked it.”

There’s something terribly filthy in the way Harry pours those words out of his mouth, his baritone voice only making it that much worse. The smaller’s hands come to press on Harry’s hips, body working on muscle memory, just trying to hold on to _something._ Louis knows he’s only joking, _teasing_ like always, but his cock twicthes in his jeans and _that’s_ the moment Harry’s balance sways and he’s flush against the older: chests touching, cheeks against each other and crotches pressed together. It takes everything in Louis to keep the whimper in.

Harry’s reflexes don’t work nearly as fast as they do when he’s sober and it’s, like, _ten minutes_ before he’s pulling away and looking at Louis with horror and amusement colouring his features. Louis knows he’s red in the face – probably in every body part actually – and he feels so embarrassed he’s ready to dig his own grave right here, through the asphalt. Instead he lets his hands fall from Harry’s waist and clears his throat.

”Don’t say a thing,” he mutters, flicking his wrist in Harry’s way, ”I just– inside..” he tries, but there’s no words. His brain’s not working properly, his head in a chaos.

Harry’s frowning then and he pulls Louis’ hands back on his waist and that’s really when Louis thinks he’s lost his mind. ”No, don’t do that thing,” Harry shakes his head, poking Louis’ chest.

”What thing?” the older asks, incredulous.

The younger rolls his eyes, as if it should be obvious. It’s really not. ”That thing,” he whines, ”Where you think we can’t talk about stuff like this. We used to, y’know. ’s normal, Lou. You had fun with ’im. ’s fine, you should feel good.”

If Louis was horrified before, he’s just about ready to bash his head in now. _We used to, y’know_. Harry can’t be talking about what Louis thinks he’s talking about, because that was _years_ ago and they’d been so young, Louis had been selfish and there’s not a day he doesn’t feel a twinge of regret when he thinks back to it. Harry can’t be talking about _that_.

”We..,” he mumbles, his eyes searching Harry’s the best they can, in this state, but he’s confused, ”Used to. What?”

Harry takes the smallest step back, though he’s swaying all the time, completely uncoordinated. He seems calculative, but it’s bit misshapen in Louis’ eyes. ”Y’don’t remember?”

_Oh God_. Harry _is_ talking about that. Louis has to swallow, has to think about his next words so carefully it’s painful for his inebriated brain. He grips tighter on Harry and makes a decision he’ll probably regret when he wakes up the next morning. ”I do. I think.”

The lines on Harry’s forehead ease and he’s smiling, albeit much more shyly this time. ”Good. Was worried for a bit there,” he chuckles, but he’s not quite meeting Louis’ eyes.

The older doesn’t know what to feel. Is he supposed to cry out of horror, is he supposed to blame himself for what happened back then, is he supposed to feel bad, because now he feels good about Harry’s little smile and the younger’s fingers that are circled around his wrists. It’s all fucked up, but Louis doesn’t even think about running off. Something in his posture maybe hints that he might want to, however, because Harry’s eyes are on him again and the little crease between his brows is back.

”That was normal, too, y’know,” he leans closer to Louis, his lips against the shell of his ear, his steps still staggering, ”We were young. _Teenagers_. Don’t go and think, like, that you had some responsibility or some shit. I know you think so. You didn’t, Lou.”

Maybe, _maybe_ the air flows out of Louis a little easier after those words, but he can’t tell because his mind’s taking him back in time, sweeping him to his own dark, childhood room.

_He’s got David Beckham’s poster on the wall opposite from where his bed is and he’s sitting right before the said bed on the ground, Harry by his side. They’re leaning against the wooden bedframe, both quiet and staring at David._

_”He’s handsome, yeah?” Harry asks him and Louis nods._

_Even at seventeen he’s got that adoration in his eyes, looking down on the boy who’s just turned fourteen. It’s wicked, but nothing’s changed since. Harry’s fiddling with his fingers and Louis is staring at him, waiting. Harry wanted to talk about something and now Louis is waiting. He’d wait until the world ends, if Harry wanted him to._

_”I haven’t kissed a bloke before,” the younger then says, his voice even but he’s still nervous, Louis can tell._

_”So?”_

_Harry turns to look at Louis, something a little desperate in his eyes. He’s scared, the older realises. ”I think I wanna. There’s someone..” Harry’s eyes flicker somewhere, away from Louis and the other tries not to let it hurt, ”I don’t know for sure, though.”_

_Louis swallows. ”And?”_

_Harry’s eyes are pleading as he inches closer. ”Lou. Will you help me? You know you like boys. I just want to know if –,” Harry looks at David on the wall, his thighs out on display, ”If I’m attracted to boys. Real life boys.”_

_Even without saying it out loud, Louis knows what Harry’s asking. He’s older, he should say no and tell Harry to go and try it out with the bloke he’s into. But he doesn’t. He eyes the younger, gnaws on his lower lip and tries not to sweat. Louis stares for so long, Harry turns his head away and mumbles that he understands if Louis’ not attracted to him._

_And Louis can’t say that he is, that’d be way too real, but he can pull Harry closer, can cradle his pretty face between his hands. ”We’re not even related,” he reasons and swallows, ”Just for you to know, yeah?”_

_Harry nods once, slowly and then Louis leans in. The younger’s lips are soft, bigger than Louis’ and they taste like cherry – it’s Harry’s lip balm, Louis reminds himself, dumbfounded. It’s not awkward, not really, just new. Their lips glide together easily and it’s not either one’s first kiss, not by far, so it’s smooth the way it can be at their age. Louis guides his hand to the nape of the younger’s neck and cards through the curls there, before tentatively pushing his tongue against Harry’s lips, sneaking his way in. A warm spalsh happens in Louis’ stomach as he tastes Harry, feels the younger’s tongue slide against his and that’s when he knows he’s eternally screwed. Harry’s hands eventually fist on Louis’ t-shirt, gripping tight and pulling Louis closer, their noses bumping when the older actually climbs on top of Harry’s thighs. He doesn’t think, is the thing. Louis doesn’t let his thoughts anywhere near whatever this is, just runs his hands through Harry’s soft hair and marvels in the feeling that the shorter boy’s fingers give him when they slide under Louis’ shirt, lightly touching the skin of his stomach._

_It doesn’t take much, just a few noises of their lips attaching again and again, the taste of their mixed saliva and their hands on each other and Louis can feel both of their dicks hard, rubbing against their trousers in an uncomfortable way. He pulls away, hesitantly meeting Harry’s eyes. They know now, Harry knows now. He’s attracted to boys, he’ll like kissing the bloke. But Louis feels all kinds of hot under his skin and the younger’s eyes are hooded, his hands still under Louis’ shirt. The clock’s way past midnight now, the other people in the house sound asleep – Louis only hears his own heart drumming in his ears. He swallows, thumbing on Harry’s soft cheeks, eyes flicking from the other’s eyes to their crotches._

_It’s Harry who urges Louis to lift his bum enough for the younger to pull his own pants down enough to reveal his pink, throbbing cock and then he pulls down Louis’ pants as well, all the while looking the older in the eye, presumably to ask if it’s okay. Louis can’t say no, doesn’t want to say no, so he just nods silently, getting wholly rid of his jeans and briefs, helping Harry do the same. He sits back on Harry’s lap, then, and they start out slow, both holding on to themselves. They share nervous looks, both’s eyes flickering down every now and then, and Louis feels so hot, he thinks he’s never had it like this. He thinks he might go crazy with the feelings floating inside him, trying to break the seams that hold Louis’ body together, so the next time Harry looks up, Louis attaches their lips again, kissing him softly._

_Louis’ left hand is on Harry’s chest, travelling up to cradle his neck and Harry’s holding on to Louis’ thigh. Quietly, while pressing soft kisses on to Harry’s lips, Louis moves his right hand on Harry’s right wrist, pulling the hand away from the younger’s cock. He doesn’t think about it when he wraps his delicate fingers around him, just deepens the kiss at Harry’s intake of breath, pushes his tongue past his swollen lips. It takes a few seconds for Harry to recover, but then his hand is on Louis’ cock as well, stroking him up and down and Louis thinks he’s in heaven. The room’s filled with quiet whimpers, slick noises from where their lips are hungrily tasting each other and where their hands are working wonders on their lenghts. It’s a miracle Harry ends up coming before Louis, his mouth falling open and his hands going slack on Louis. The older has to peel his eyes open to see it, the way the younger’s lips are apart and his brows are pinched together, the pleasure rippling through his body. Louis thinks he could come just from looking at Harry, but then the other’s moving his hand again, his green eyes staring right into Louis’ blue ones and he’s tipping over the edge, his hands pulling on Harry’s curls._

The memory is clear as day in Louis’ mind even though he’s drunk out of his arse. His hard-on isn’t going anywhere now and it seems like Harry might’ve been thinking about the same thing as Louis, because his eyes are hooded as well, now. They’re still attached to each other, close and basically breathing the same air. The older wants to disappear, because if he soon doesn’t, he’s going to do something unthinkable. Louis knows he’s the one who’s supposed to tell Harry he doesn’t feel like it was wrong what happened that night and then once afterwards, too, when Harry was sixteen and Louis nineteen. Louis doesn’t feel quite as bad about the second time, maybe because the younger had already been older then. Nevertheless, it’s Louis who apparently needs to understand that he didn’t do anything wrong back then. But that’s a dangerous game, because admitting that would mean there’s really nothing wrong with Louis aching for Harry. And there’s definitely a lot wrong with that.

”I know I didn’t make you,” he eventually breathes out, pushing Harry just an inch further away, though it hurts, ”But we’re related, yeah? I’m your uncle, I should’ve known better. Even if I was a kid.”

The younger’s brows are furrowed, he’s shaking his head. ”No, I refuse to listen to that,” he shakes his head again, stubborn, ”You helped me out, ’s all. And we’re _not_ related. I’m not even officially adopted. Just,” Harry’s frustrated now, but he does take a small step back, ”Just don’t ruin a perfectly fine memory, please.”

And who’s Louis to deny Harry of anything. Absolutely no one, that’s who. ”I won’t,” he says, quietly, ”I won’t. ’s a fine memory.”

They stand there for several minutes after that, Louis isn’t sure for how long exactly, but it feels like a long time. It’s not awkward between them and the older hopes it’ll still be fine the next morning when they’re not drunk anymore. They keep their hands attached to each other, but there’s more room between them now, just to actually let Louis cool down. It’s okay, he thinks to himself, because that’s how it feels. Something’s different, he can’t pinpoint what exactly, but something is. He doesn’t mind it, doesn’t mind the way Harry seems relaxed at his touch, either. It’s good.

Both of them still down several more shots that night and when they take the cab home, they lean on each other. Harry makes them smoothies once they’re home, while Louis searches for a couple of Advils that they down with the delicacy. They both sit on the kitchen counter, thighs brushing and they’re laughing about something Stan had done. Before Louis slips into his room, Harry pecks his cheek and gives him the most blinding smile Louis has seen in a long time.

He falls asleep with a smile on his lips. It’s stupid.

–

There’s no such thing as an easy night out. Not for Louis Tomlinson there isn’t. He’s twenty-six, his head isn’t supposed to be thudding with such force he feels like someone’s hammering down the walls of his mind. He’s not forty, but his body reacts to alcohol as though he were. Louis lets out a pained groan, turning from his side to his back. It’s a mistake. Every move makes him ache more and the change in position feels like someone’s bouncing him up and down like a fucking yo-yo. He groans again.

Louis doubts anyone really enjoys the morning after a rough night, but for him it’s always been like this. Even when he was only eighteen, he didn’t have that super metabolism that somehow worked the alcohol out of his system fast enough for him to go out the next evening as well. Louis has never done that and he never will. It’s not just the headache and nausea that come with partying, but also that pulsing feeling in the lower bit of his stomach – arousal. It probably isn’t a Louis-thing, but so far the man hasn’t encountered another human being that’s as horny when hungover as he is. And today’s no exception.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, refusing to turn his head in fear of the spinning feeling coming back. The iPhone’s smooth glass touches his fingers soon enough, luckily, and he checks the time. It’s not even ten a.m. Louis briefly wonders if there’s any chance of his usual hook-up, Zack, being up at this hour, but comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter anyways, because Harry’s still sleeping in the living room. And right. Louis carelessly tosses the phone back on the bedside table and hides his eyes behind his forearm. _Right_.

His head’s clouded with the thrumming headache, but he can still allow his wrecked mind to pick up some of the pieces from last night. Louis remembers taking shots, remembers dancing with Emmett and yeah, he remembers the talk with Harry, too. What the actual fuck happened – that, he’s not so sure of. He knows he was immensely turned on, knows they’d somehow ended up vaguely talking about something that happened almost ten years ago. Louis definitely hadn’t meant for that to happen. He’s not one to actually confront things that he’s got mixed feelings about and what happened with Harry then, definitely falls under the category.

Louis sighs, because he doesn’t feel bad about it, not really. The talk, the fact that he’d somehow enjoyed Harry’s touch last night. He can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it, because it was Harry who brought up the actual topic. Under normal circumstances, had it been any other friend of Louis’, they’d have ignored it. It wouldn’t have been a conversation. But in a way, he supposes he’s actually glad Harry had said something about it. Louis’ fist clenches around his duvet, something heavy in his chest still lingering.

For years he’d been wondering about it, somewhere in the back of his mind. He was seventeen, Harry only fourteen – had he somehow pressured the boy? But then the way the man had talked about it last night.. Louis hadn’t pressured him, had he. Another sigh falls past his lips, a relieved one, maybe. He’d somehow blamed it on himself, because really, Harry had been just a kid back then. Not that Louis was somehow and adult – he wasn’t. _Clearly_. But it had happened, nine years ago. It had happened and that’s that. Louis can’t change that, he’s not sure if he would even if he was given the chance.

It’s easy to make a bridge from these thoughts to the second time it had happened. The second and the only other time. It had been heady as well. They’d been older then though, Harry had already turned sixteen at the beginning of the year and Louis was still eighteen, on the brink of turning nineteen. They’d gone home for the Christmas holidays – well, to Louis’ home, to Vivian’s house. Both wanted to escape the busy city of London, even though Alice had stayed behind. Some of their old friends had thrown a party, informal one, like a teenage party really. Louis was probably one of the oldest ones there – he’d felt so out of place. Now that he thinks about it, it must’ve been mostly Harry’s old friends, his own already having moved away. He was pretty buzzed though and kind of enjoyed it, too, watching how people snogged against the walls with each other, most likely only to regret it upon waking up. It had been entertaining if nothing else.

But then they were sitting in the living space, in a circle of some sort, people scattered around the couches and chairs. Harry was dancing in the middle, because Harry had been like that then, too. Not many people would’ve guessed, but he was wild and rowdy, his curls and angelic smile deceived many. Louis had always had trouble trying to rein him in and it had brought around a few times where the older had had trouble keeping his own mind clean. Harry had a certain effect on all of his friends. The said friends all knew it and it was a commonly accepted fact. So, it wasn’t odd at all, when the curly haired lad had announced he’ll be daring himself to give lap dances in the circle. It had been a fun idea, something they all could laugh at, Harry included.

Louis had snickered from where he was lounging on one of the arm chairs, absolutely sure he’d be safe. He was related to Harry in a way after all, it’s not like he had to worry. Harry had made his way around the circle, rather randomly picking his victims and they’d all laughed because they were drunk and young and why wouldn’t they have. Louis really should’ve known how Harry is and had he been sober, he probably would’ve fled the room as soon as Harry had announced his dare to himself. Alas, he was drunk. _Very_ drunk.

Eventually the younger boy had made it to Louis and the older had just wiggled his fingers at him in a wave, cheekily smiling up at him. He didn’t mean anything by it, but Harry’s eyes had held that familiar glint, mischievous as ever. It was too late to run then, people around them were already cheering Harry on and really, there’s barely anything drunk Harry wouldn’t do to please the audience. Louis had barely had the time to straighten himself up in the chair, when his nephew had flopped down on him, arse first. It was all downhill from there.

It seemed to entertain the crowd, though, all of the people in the room laughing in fits and Louis only hopes he didn’t look as hot and bothered as he started to feel. Though Harry was drunk, he managed to sway his hips over Louis’ lap in a manner that shouldn’t have been possible, his hands were braced on Louis’ knees and someone was yelling about the boy’s glossed over eyes and obscene lips and it was horrible. And Harry’s friends kept laughing and it spurred the younger on, because Harry was like that: he was fun and daring – to the point where he would pretend to give his uncle a lap dance.

It wasn’t pretending, however, is the thing. Harry never did these things halfway. He never did _anything_ halfway and so, he’d properly ground on Louis. The older had been so hard it had hurt. He’d tried to laugh along with the others for the sake of his face and maybe he’d managed. It didn’t change the fact that his nephew was perched on his lap, giggling and swaying his hips, though. Despite wanting to, Louis couldn’t rush off, because that would’ve made it weird, so he’d sat there long enough for someone to pull Harry away in demand of their own lap dance. Louis thinks it might’ve been some girl who liked Harry, but he wasn’t sure.

He was careful in the way he got up, tried to be casual about it and even turned around to snicker at the show Harry was still putting on. On the way out of the room, he’d patted some lad’s shoulder and told him how fucking ridiculous they all were. Then he’d ducked under someone’s arm and disappeared upstairs to find an empty room, because his cock was straining against his jeans and he was so out of his mind, so drunk, he couldn’t keep his hands off himself.

Louis’d barely managed to wrap his shaky fingers around himself, urgent like he was trying to put out a fire inside him, when the door was pushed open, rather loudly. His intoxicated brain had worked slow then, too, and when his eyes had blinked open, he’d frozen. He couldn’t think, didn’t register anything else than the fact that he was staring into his nephew’s bright, green eyes. Louis’ stomach had somersaulted, his heart leapt a beat.

It couldn’t have been much longer than two seconds, but it felt like minutes, before Harry was pushing the door closed and Louis was hissing at him to get the fuck out. Harry didn’t. His jeans had been strained too, which wasn’t such a big surprise considering the amount of lap dances he’d been giving out, and his eyes were glassy for a whole other reason than alcohol. He’d stridden up to Louis and there were no words to say, nothing to excuse it with, not really. But Harry had tried.

”Just really need to fucking get off. Right now.”

And Louis thinks he’d nodded, maybe mumbled a hazy ’yeah’, and then Harry’d been pushing his own jeans and briefs down and slapping Louis’ hand away from his swollen cock. When the younger’s long fingers had wrapped around him, Louis had hit his head on the wall so hard he’d felt it the next morning, too. He’d cursed filthily, loudly.

Harry had laughed, breathy, and without asking pushed his free hand in Louis’ hair, smashing their mouths together eagerly. It had been fucked up, but Louis hadn’t been able to stop it. His right hand had been on Harry’s cock in seconds and their movements were hasty, desperate like it had been fucking years since they’d last had someone touching them like this. Louis knows for a fact, it hadn’t been more than weeks, if that. And he’d felt even hotter under the collar, thinking about that.

Their hands had fumbled all over each other and the older had ached inside. He’d been fantasizing about this for two years by then, in the little hours of the morning with his bleary eyes and inebriated self. And Harry was there, his hands big and warm on him, his tongue pushing inside Louis’ mouth, coaxing the older to chase it with his own. Louis thought he must’ve been on cloud nine, shaking hands with God himself.

The thing that eventually did it for Louis, however, was Harry’s sharp teeth digging into the skin on his neck, his wet tongue poking out to lap at him. The teeth had sunken so deep, Louis’ mother had asked about the marks the following day and Louis had claimed he didn’t remember who left them there. Harry’s sucking lips and the force of his bite had sent Louis over the edge with ease, the older’s body quivering under the other’s touch and everything he saw and felt was _white white white_.

Harry had still been kissing Louis’ neck when the older had managed to gather himself up and even after the orgasm, Louis had still been adamant about making it good for Harry. So good, he’d never forget it. He had started working on the younger’s cock again, his thumb had teased Harry’s slit and the pump of his hand was rapid but even, strong. Cautiously, he’d turned his head to nibble on Harry’s earlobe and then he’d whispered just two words, not even meant for Harry but himself – ’ _fuck me’_ – and the younger had tipped over the edge, spilling on Louis’ hand. Louis can still feel the moan against his neck if he tries hard enough.

The older had had to let go, else he’d have been hard again in no time, but they’d still kept breathing into each other’s mouths for a bit, the kisses mostly a way to have an easy drop back to earth. Eventually they’d moved to the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom and cleaned themselves up whilst avoiding each other’s eyes.

”Thanks, darling,” had Harry said in an attempt to cut the heavy, awkward air between them, his voice cheeky.

Louis had laughed, because it was Harry. ”Shut up, you little shit.”

Louis might’ve told his mother he didn’t remember who gave him those bite-marks, but he made sure _he’d_ remember. And he still does.

That was the second and the last time they ever did anything and it never affected their relationship. They never talked about it in the daylight, so it was fine. That second time never bothered Louis as much as the first time had, but it seems like Harry doesn’t regret either one. Or just doesn’t remember the other one. Louis isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel relieved or not.

His head’s hurting now more than ever, the memory burned on his lids, evidently not helping his urges. He grunts at himself and is just about bury all these thoughts, feelings and memories away, somewhere deep, deep inside his mind, when Harry stumbles through the door. The younger’s hair’s a mess and his eyes barely open, but he seems to know where he’s going nonetheless.

”Wha– _H_?”

The man falls on to Louis’ bed with his own blanket wrapped around himself and sighs so contently Louis thinks it shouldn’t be possible after the night they’d had. ”Much better,” Harry mumbles.

”What the hell are you doing?” Louis demands despite his head throbbing with the way he’d turned it so quickly.

Harry doesn’t even open his eyes. ”Your couch is shit. I’m hungover as fuck and staying here.”

Louis gapes at him for a while, but in the end doesn’t kick him out. It’s only because the younger’s already fast asleep anyways. He considers getting up himself, but the clock’s only ten a.m. and there’s literally nothing he could do in this state. He gives the man beside him a resentful look, before shutting his own eyes and drifting back to sleep, all thoughts about a young, eager Harry forgotten.

*

The next time Louis peels his eyes open, he’s got a boner. He doesn’t know what time it is, but judging by the grogginess he’s feeling, it must’ve been hours. Harry’s still there, his long arm now thrown over Louis’ chest and their legs tangled while his head’s next to Louis’ on the older’s pillow, soft breaths reaching his ear. The smaller’s chest is flushed, as well. Both are facts Louis can’t ignore.

Louis recognizes the way he’s hard. It’s not just the passing type – it’s the hungover morning wood that won’t go away without a proper wank or someone’s hands on him. The older shuts his eyes tightly, briefly considering either suffocating himself or Harry with a pillow. His life’s never been that good anyway. Even if he could’ve come up with any way to slip away unnoticed, he doesn’t think he could’ve avoided what happens next if he tried, but he still _hopes_ he could have.

Harry’s eyes flutter open as he breathes in softly, his lips close to Louis’ ear. The older goes stiff – all over this time – and keeps his eyes shut. He’s not trying to pretend he’s sleeping, just can’t watch the reaction Harry’s going to have to this. It’s going to be the second time in the past twenty-four hours. The younger doesn’t move away from Louis, just smacks his lips and actually nuzzles a bit closer, inhaling again. Louis wonders if he’s going back to sleep instead of getting up, wishes he would.

The older opens his eyes, to see Harry’s looking at him with a smile on his lips. ”G’morning, Lou.”

He hasn’t noticed, then. ”Morning.”

Neither one moves, Harry seemingly comfortable against Louis as they’re sharing body heat. Both of their duvets are in a heap at the foot of the bed, under their feet. And really, if Louis could’ve pulled one of them over himself inconspicuously enough, he’d maybe avoided Harry’s eyes landing on his proudly standing dick.

It’s not a smile that’s on the younger’s lips anymore, but a smirk. His green eyes are a little amused and his hand is travelling up Louis’ chest, over his tattoos. Louis doesn’t like this one bit. ”Someone’s awake.”

The older huffs and attempts to pull his own hand away from under Harry, with poor results. Harry sticks to him even tighter, his dirty eyes locking Louis’ gaze. ”Don’t be grumpy,” he purrs, but he’s clearly just joking, ”I can help you, if you want.”

Harry taps his fingers where the hair grows on Louis’ chest at the words, his tone playful and Louis _hates_ that his stomach does a cartwheel at the thought, even though his nephew’s clearly just taking the piss.

”Go fuck yourself,” he groans as he pulls his arm away from Harry with force, trying to detach Harry’s limbs from him without hurting his stiff, sensitive dick.

The older realizes the error in his words before Harry’s even managed to flutter his lashes at him. ”I’d rather fuck you.”

With that, Louis kicks him off the bed, not feeling even a tad bad when the younger lands on the hardwood floor with a thump. Instead he pulls his duvet over him and lays back down, huffing.

Harry’s head peeks from the floor and he’s not even laughing – which is a surprise – but rather just smirking. ”No, but seriously, Lou. I have a few buddies who’d be happy to do you if you need a hand,” he leans his chin on the bed and adds then, ”Or two.”

”Fuck you, Harry,” Louis says and promptly flips him off with his middle finger.

Finally Harry’s cackling fills the room as he presumably gets up from the floor and pulls his own duvet with him. ”As you wish, sweetie,” he calls over his shoulder, before shutting the door on his way out.

If Louis has to wank twice in the shower that morning and if Harry keeps smirking at him throughout the day then Louis makes extra effort to not think about it when he next lays down in his king-size and tries to sleep.

–

On Sunday, Louis comes home from one of those rare jogs he goes for when he’s got the time, and finds Harry and Niall playing FIFA on the couch. He’s dripping sweat, the weather still nice and sunny, though it’s getting more humid gradually. He almost wishes it would rain soon. Louis has to fetch a towel from the bathroom to wipe his forehead, before he enters the living space, seating himself down on the arm rest next to Niall.

”Hi lads,” he greets, still breathing heavily.

”Hey,” Niall’s polite enough to give him a smile, but Harry just mumbles something incoherent, his eyes glued to the screen.

They’re both terrible at FIFA and Louis has told them as much, but it doesn’t seem to faze the two, both still entirely happy to mount Louis’ couch and steal his beer and play the game while the older silently judges their skills. ”Zayn’s coming over,” Louis says, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes flick between the players on the screen.

”Oh?” Harry seems distracted.

”Mm,” the older hums, ”’s my last day off, we’re gonna order some pizza and play some FIFA as well. Just so you know.”

The younger finally pauses the game to properly look at Louis. His lips stretch into a smile as he takes in the older’s shape, the patches of sweat on his white shirt and his hair that’s sticking up. ”’s fine. We can take turns,” he shrugs.

”Sure,” Louis nods, getting up to head to shower.

”Oh, actually,” Harry’s voice makes him turn around.

”Yeah?”

”I could make us that pizza,” the younger suggests, his fingers fiddling with the buttons on the controller, ”I think we have all the ingredients.”

Louis shrugs. ”Fine. I don’t see why not.”

”Cool,” Harry nods and then he’s unpausing the game and Louis ducks into his room and then to the bathroom.

He takes a long, cold shower, enjoying the little droplets of water sliding down his skin as they wash away all the heat and sweat. Louis washes his hair thoroughly, bathing in the feeling of having his mind completely void of thoughts. He’s spent the last week and little more fully wrapped up in his mind, all these memories and new inappropriate thoughts popping up at every corner. All day today he’s been trying to shake the image of Harry from Saturday morning, walking out of the shower with his chest and hair still damp, his cheeks flushed and eyes sparkly. Louis’ been trying not to think about what the younger had done in the shower, just a door away from the older.

Right now though, his mind’s wonderfully numb, just there like it still was two weeks ago. Louis takes his time drying his hair with the towel and getting dressed in a pair of shorts and a blue t-shirt. When he finally emerges from the room, his best friend’s already arrived and is sitting between Harry and Niall, sipping on a beer while texting someone. ”Hey, mate,” Louis says as he steps closer to pat Zayn’s shoulder.

The younger greets him and tucks his phone in his pocket. ”Aren’t we playing?” he asks, then, pointedly looking at the two younger men in the room, still engrossed in their game, now also loudly cursing at each other.

”The juniors promised to give us our turn, don’t worry,” Louis chuckles, pointing towards the small kitchen with his thumb. ”Come with me?”

Zayn follows him suit, when the older goes to the fridge and picks up a can of his own. They sit around the table and talk a little about how Louis feels about going back to work and how Zayn still wants to quit his. Eventually, though, there’s a curious sparkle in the younger’s eye and Louis knows it can’t be good, whatever it is he’s thinking.

”How’d you like Emmett?”

Louis hadn’t called his best friend after Thursday or seen him. Friday he’d spent mostly in bed and he didn’t leave the house at all while on Saturday he’d gone out with Stan to shop for his girlfriend’s birthday present. And to get away from Harry and Will snogging on the couch. Truth be told, Louis had completely forgotten about Emmett. He’d never exchanged numbers with the man and the night hadn’t turned out as planned either. Louis is still very much sexually frustrated.

”He was fit,” the older shrugs, unwittingly avoiding Zayn’s eyes, ”Was fun.”

”Fun? Why didn’t you ask his number then?”

Even without looking, Louis knows his friend’s brows are raised expectantly. He still doesn’t look. ”I was after a one-night thing.”

Zayn clears his throat, forcing the other to meet his gaze. ”Then why didn’t you give him _that_?” the younger looks confused, but he’s always a step ahead of Louis, ”He thought you wanted to.”

”I did,” Louis insists, pushing his fringe out of his eyes, ”Just.. Got a bit complicated, ’s all.”

”Complicated,” Zayn deadpans.

”Yeah.”

Louis swears he can hear the clock ticking away on the wall, can hear the way their beer cans are sweating and the droplets are hitting the table. Zayn’s eyebrow twitches then. ”What happened, mate?”

And _no_ , Louis isn’t having this conversation again. He’d gone through it with Harry and he’d been drunk and it had still been awful. He’s not doing this sober, not when he’s just managed to get over it, somehow at least.

”Nothing happened,” his tone’s annoyed, when it was supposed to be collected.

His best friend is shaking his head on the other side of the table while leaning back in his chair. Louis already knows what Zayn thinks happened and he’s not sure if it’s better to let him keep thinking it was just Louis who chickened out because he kept his eyes on Harry or if he’d be better off explaining how he’d just lost all desire towards the other mate because he’d been reminded of something that happened nearly a decade ago.

”Something happened,” Zayn simply says, his brown eyes boring into Louis’ soul with such ease it should scare the older.

He fixes his posture under the other’s scrutiny, but Zayn’s eyes follow him like a hawk’s. Louis reaches over the table to flick at his wrist as an attempt to change the subject, but the younger just pulls his arm away and returns his dark eyes on Louis. And Louis’ not weak when it comes to Zayn. He’s not weak the way he is when Harry’s trying to probe into his business, but he’s still incapable of shutting the hell up, it seems.

” _Fine_ ,” he huffs, throwing his arms up, ”Harry happened,” he says in a hushed voice.

It’s not like Zayn didn’t know this, so the other man just prompts Louis to go on, explain further. The thing is that Louis doesn’t know how much he can say. Zayn knows Louis’ got feelings for Harry, probably has even figured out the fact that he’s properly, embarrassingly in love with the younger, but Louis’ never told his friend about the two times they’d slipped – not just him, but Harry as well. He doesn’t know how it’d change Zayn’s view on him or on the matter – would it do anything. After all, his friend hasn’t said he judges Louis. In fact, he’d been very clear when they’d discussed the whole thing that he doesn’t think there’s anything Louis could do about his feelings, that he doesn’t think it’s utterly wrong how he feels. Louis had laughed incredulously and Zayn had remained calm and said he thinks it’s pretty natural, really.

Harry’s not actually related to Louis, he’d said. Neither is he legally adopted in to the Tomlinson family – the man even carries the last name of Styles. Zayn had said it was, in a way, just an unfortunate fact that Harry didn’t have any relatives to take him in when his father had died and so the boy’s custody had fallen to Alice, following Harry’s father’s wishes. In Zayn’s opinion, Louis isn’t Harry’s uncle first and foremost, but rather his childhood best friend. They’d grown up together, living in the same city and seeing each other frequently, but no one had ever emphasized the fact that Louis was Harry’s _uncle_. Harry’d just been planted into Alice’s – who’d already moved out of Vivian’s house by then – life and become her foster kid. Alice being the fickle person she is, had taken him in without a second thought. Louis and Alice have a twelve-year age difference, different fathers as well, so they’d never been especially close either, which meant Louis probably never even considered Harry to be a relative – he barely thought of Alice that way.

So, Zayn thinks it’s just a childhood best friend Louis has fallen in love with and then he’s made it into this big deal later on, how he’s Harry’s uncle and how it’s basically incest how he feels. Zayn had said Louis should keep it all in perspective and sometimes Louis manages to do that, because he thinks his friend’s right, in the end. He’d never seen Harry as a relative when they were younger, barely anyone in their school had even known they sort of were. But it still doesn’t change the fact that Louis feels self-conscious about disclosing what had happened between him and Harry in the past, something queasy inside the older still reminding he’s supposed to be an uncle, one way or another.

”He was being himself,” Louis simply says, once he manages to rip himself out of his daunting thoughts.

”Did he grind on you?”

Louis actually, genuinely laughs at that and some of the tension between them dissipates, the corners of Zayn’s lips pulling up as well. ”No,” the older shakes his head, ”No. He just talked filthily like always. Rolled his pretty hips and I lost the mood, ’s all.”

Zayn snorts at that. ”Thought that would get you going, if I’m honest.”

The older rolls his eyes, kicking his friend’s foot under the table. ”Dickhead.”

”Your turn!” Niall hollers from the living room and the conversation has ended. Thankfully.

*

Harry’s basically sulking after Louis has beaten him four times, his lower lip jutted out and his brows knitted together. He’d already announced he’ll never play against Louis ever again, but the older has heard those words at least a hundred times in his past, so instead of even trying to comfort his nephew, he just shrugs.

”We should’ve played for money,” Zayn muses from the armchair, his brown eyes twinkling from where he’s scrolling on his phone.

”Next time,” Louis agrees, pointing at his friend while smiling smugly.

Harry tosses the controller to Niall and gets up from the couch with a huff. ”You can play by yourself. I’ll go make that pizza.”

As he passes Louis, the older slaps him on the arse, causing the younger to yelp. He flips the older off while muttering something about the world’s most horrible uncle. Louis doesn’t even hear it. Zayn’s immersed in his phone, clearly texting someone and Louis has a sneaking suspicion it’s Liam. He’s already planning on asking Liam tomorrow once he’s back at work. He almost looks forward to the workday, just because of that.

”Wanna play one with me?” Niall suggests at Louis, but the older doesn’t feel like playing anymore.

”Nah,” he shakes his head, ”Zayn, you play. I’ll go wee.”

Louis gets up to go to the bathroom, but the sight in the kitchen makes him stop. Harry’s leaning on the counter, the cook book between his elbows and his back turned to Louis. He’s humming a Bowie song, swaying his hips from side to side and his fingers are carding through his slowly growing hair. He looks very nice, is all Louis thinks, before he slips into the room.

Harry doesn’t hear him approaching and when Louis jabs him on either side with his pointer fingers, he basically jumps as a shriek falls from his lips. ”Louis!”

The older’s already stepping back, laughing and avoiding Harry’s grabby hands, but his efforts are halfhearted. The taller man seizes him between his arms easily and he’s tickling Louis with such force the older thinks his sides might bruise. It’s not an unpleasant thought. ”Let me go, you giraffe,” he squawks, but Harry just circles his arms around the smaller’s waist instead.

”Never,” the younger declares, his mouth grinning and his breath hitting Louis’ forehead.

Louis’ hands are awkwardly pressed between their chests and he has to nudge Harry’s chin with the top of his head, to make the other give him enough room to encircle Harry’s waist as well. ”You’re always teasing me,” the younger complains, his fingers fiddling with the hem of Louis’ shirt on his back.

”’m not,” Louis lets out a small laugh, ”This is how I show me love.”

The other snorts in such an unattractive way, Louis thinks it’s endearing. ”Right,” Harry hums, his dimples at display and his big emeralds looking in to Louis’ eyes, ”Maybe you could try showing it differently one of these days.”

”Don’t see that happening,” the older shakes his head, pressing his lips together to smack them in an obnoxious way, ”I enjoy this too much.”

”What?” Harry looks amused, ”Hugging me?”

”Sure,” Louis nods, laughing properly this time, ”Let’s say that.”

They stand in each other’s arms for a while and it’s not awkward, but rather comfortable. They’re both smiling, not to each other necessarily, just smiling. Louis doesn’t let his brain think of anything weird for once, just enjoys the proximity and Harry’s light touch on him. ”D’you wanna help me make the pizza?”

Louis’ utter shit when it comes to cooking and baking and Harry knows as much, but it’s sweet of him to offer. ”I don’t wanna burn down me kitchen.”

Harry laughs at him, his right hand travelling up to take a hold of Louis’ neck and the familiar shivers run on the older’s spine again. He thinks he’s not flushing though. ”Alright. Maybe you should go away and stop distracting me then,” the taller drawls and he’s still smiling so wide and nice, Louis almost considers slipping up.

There goes the ’not thinking anything weird’ train then.

”I’m distracting you?” Louis raises his brows, his voice laughing, because he clearly has no self-preservation skills whatsoever.

Maybe the older imagines it, the way Harry’s eyes travel up and down his body very quickly, before he’s being pushed away. Maybe. ”You’re a distracting person,” the taller man informs, shooing Louis away, ”Go bother someone else, little man.”

Louis’ still laughing when he turns around, but the delight suddenly dies inside him, when he sees Zayn standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame. His lips are in a thin line, but his brows are raised in a manner that suggests he might be amused under it all. Louis doesn’t exactly want to find out. He attempts shimmying his way past his friend, but Zayn grabs his forearm gently.

”You’re getting too close to the fire, Louis.”

The older doesn’t look Zayn in the eyes. ”I’ve fucking burnt myself already.”

The hand on him eases and Louis makes his way to the bathroom where he was supposed to go. Zayn makes sure he’s sitting beside Louis for the rest of the afternoon, chatting with him and staying away from his phone. Louis’ thankful in a way, but at the same time he sort of just wishes for Niall and the raven haired man to leave, so that he can cuddle up on the couch with Harry and watch a rom-com from Netflix.

Yeah, he’s burnt alright.

–

_March, 2012_

_”This is probably a dumb fucking idea,” Louis exhales with a laugh, rubbing his hands together._

_”What d’you mean?” Harry looks to him, his green eyes playfully chastising. ”Are you saying you don’t think we’ll be best friends forever and ever?”_

_It’s relatively hot in the parlor, but that’s not the reason Louis’ sweating. It’s not because he’s nervous about the needle on his skin – he’s got plenty of tattoos already. His eyes flick to Harry and then back to his own wrist. ”Nah, but,” he meets the younger’s gaze again, ”This is your first tattoo. Like, I wanna be sure you like it.”_

_The design they’d ended up with was drawn by Ed, Louis’ tattoo artist friend who’s also going to tattoo them today and in that sense the result was amazing. It’s relatively simple, Harry’s tattoo has a little less shadowing than Louis’ because Ed had figured it’d be better to go easy on the first one, but even so it’s impossible to miss the resemblance between the designs. And it had been the point, so. Even though Louis isn’t worried about Ed’s work, he still wants to know Harry’s sure about getting a tattoo that’s complimentary to his – it’s going to be there for the rest of his life._

_”I do like it,” Harry assures, his smile soft around the edges, ”It looks cool.”_

_The older rolls his eyes, laughing. ”Maybe it should be a bit more than just cool. You’re only eighteen. Don’t want you to start regretting it in a few years.”_

_”Why would I?” asks Harry incredulously, his brows pinched together, ”’s meaningful. It’s a link between the two of us. I love it already and it’s not even on me yet,” hesitance flashes in the man’s eyes, ”Are_ you _going to regret it?”_

_Something prickles underneath Louis’ skin, like an itch that he can’t touch. It’s been there for a long time now and he hopes that maybe, in a way, the tattoo could ease it somehow. Maybe. ”Never,” he shakes his head, his eyes firmly locked on Harry’s._

_They share a small smile before Ed’s calling their names. ”Which one do I do first?”_

_Louis looks to Harry. ”D’you want me to go? You can watch.”_

_The younger nods and so Louis settles in the chair, offering his wrist for Ed to put the print there. He works in silence, concentrated, but once his gun meets Louis’ skin, he sets off to speak. ”An anchor and a rope, huh,” his eyes flick between them, ”That’s quite symbolic.”_

_Harry’s beaming next to the artist, leaning over his shoulder to take a peek, seeing how Louis’ tendons flex under the sweep of the needle. Louis can already feel the heavy, pleasant buzz filling his veins._

_”Yeah,” the youngest of them eventually says, ”He’s my anchor, I’m his rope. ’s to remind us about the other’s presence even when we’re not together.”_

_Ed raises his brows at Louis. ”Didn’t know you were dating someone this seriously,” he mumbles._

_The smaller man’s eyes round a little as he opens his mouth to correct the man, but nothing comes out for a moment. He’d known people could misunderstand the tattoos, but it still takes him by surprise. ”We’re not.”_

_His and Harry’s eyes meet. ”We’re just close,” the taller provides, a small private smile on his lips._

_Louis turns his head away, his cheeks heating._

_Ed looks between them again. ”Cool.”_

_Later, when they’re finished, Harry doesn’t let the ginger haired man bandage them up before forcing Louis to stand hand in hand in front of a mirror so that their new tattoos line up. They don’t speak, both’s eyes just fixed on their intertwined fingers and the new, black ink above them. Louis knows he won’t regret it, won’t be able to, not with the way Harry refuses to walk away for whole ten minutes and the way his thumb keeps sweeping the back of Louis’ hand. They don’t have to say anything, not really. Everything’s now inked on their skin, things Louis doesn’t even dare to let himself think about, too scared where they’ll lead him._

_”Shall we, lads?” Ed’s voice calls from behind them eventually._

_It still takes Harry a few more moments to rip his eyes away from the artwork, but once he does, he meets Louis’ eyes and he looks vulnerable, but happy. Blissful._

_”We’ll see ’em soon again,” Louis consoles, his voice quiet._

_Harry’s lashes flutter as he finally lets go of the older’s warm hand. ”Yeah,” he whispers and turns to Ed, then, ”Yeah. Let’s bandage them up.”_

_–_

”Seven Guinness’s to the gentlemen at the back,” Leigh-Anne says when he passes Louis on her way to the kitchen, her hand sweeping at the older man’s back.

The clock’s nearly ten p.m. already and Louis feels just about ready to leave. He’s still got an hour left, though, so he pushes himself into move, skillfully filling the pints under the tap. He gathers them on a tray and pushes it on the corner of the bar for his co-worker to pick up while he himself turns to the register to serve his next customer.

The day hasn’t been worst of them all, but Louis feels like he’s burned up all of the energy he managed to gather during his holiday on the five days he’s now worked. Seems like the tourism is at its peak at the moment, the pub fuller and fuller each day. Much to everyone’s surprise, Liam has been in a very good mood, despite having a sort of a shortage in staff. Louis still hasn’t had the chance to ask about Zayn, but he senses the way his boss has made an effort to keep chatting with Louis whenever he’s on a lunch break at the same time with the younger man. It’s amuses him a little, making the days pass at least in a somewhat bearable pace.

”Ugh, I hate tourist season,” Leigh-Anne says once she’s back at Louis’ side, trying to wipe a stain from her dark green apron.

”You and me both,” he mutters while throwing a halfhearted smile to some customers filtering out.

His co-worker bustles around him, relatively energetic for having pulled a ten-hour-shift already. Louis’ always admired Leigh, even though she’s worked at _The Anchor_ only for a year, while Louis must’ve been here at least two by now. He wishes he’d be able to muster such enthusiasm for the job, even when he doesn’t exactly like it.

”Maybe that’ll cheer you up a bit,” the woman nods towards the door, a small smile playing on her lips.

Louis follows Leigh’s line of gaze and is met with Harry and Will making their way to the bar. They’re happily chatting and though the smile on Harry’s face makes Louis’ own lips quirk up, it doesn’t change the fact that he can’t ignore the glint in the younger’s eyes, something he’ll never see when the man’s looking at the older.

”Hullo,” Harry greets him when they settle on the bar stools with his boyfriend.

”Hey,” Louis nods, his hands already working two pint glasses, ”Nice to see you,” he then says to Will, who throws him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The two seem to be on one of their good periods, both basically gloating with the delight of being in each other’s company. Perhaps, if Louis wasn’t as tired as he is, it wouldn’t really annoy him the way it does. He fills the glasses and pushes them to Harry and Will, along the counter. ”On me.”

His nephew offers him a beaming smile, before turning back to the man beside him. Louis knows Harry didn’t come to the pub because he wanted to see him, most likely, since they’d see each other later anyhow at Louis’ flat. But being ignored, in a manner of speaking, still rises some uncomfortable feelings inside the older, so he swiftly swaps to waitering, asking Leigh-Anne to take his place at the register.

”Thought you’d want to talk to your friend,” she says, bemused when Louis takes the trays from her hands.

His blue eyes flick towards the pair, heads huddled close and fingers playing with each other on the counter. Louis flips his fringe and feels his jaw straining. ”Seems like he’s a bit preoccupied,” he murmurs, before slipping away from his co-worker’s inquiring eyes.

Louis’ only got forty-five minutes of work left, but the time seems to be dragging. He can hear Harry’s boisterous laugh all the way from the front of the pub when he’s serving customers and every time he walks past them, his eyes linger on Will’s hands that seem to be on Harry at all times. And he can’t even blame them about the PDA – it’s natural to want to touch your significant other, especially after fighting. Which, admittedly, the two do a lot.

The older man only has ten minutes of work left, when he makes his way back behind the register. Leigh-Anne’s on the pub’s phone with someone, so Louis takes the next customer.

”Good evening. What can I get for you?”

The customer is a girl, beautiful chestnut hair falling on her shoulders and she’s got a dashing pair of grey eyes above her pointy nose. She smiles at Louis, leaning on the counter. ”A cider, please. Any brand is fine. Maybe apple if you have some.”

Louis gives her the best smile he can muster, before crouching to the cold cupboard and swiftly pulls out a glass bottle. He pops the cap open and gives the cider along with a glass to the girl. ”Here you go. That’ll be six pounds, please.”

”Here,” she smiles again, her teeth showing this time.

The man thanks her, just as Harry and Will appear next to the customer, Harry leaning his left elbow on the counter beside the girl. ”We’re heading out, Lou. Your shift’s almost over, yeah?”

Louis nods, ”Yeah.”

”Wanna go home together?”

The older’s lips quirk up, the smile more real now than all evening. ”Sure. Gimme a fifteen.”

”That’s sweet,” the girl suddenly speaks up, gaining all of the three men’s attention with her cooing.

”Sorry?” Harry asks, his lips pulled to an amused smile, his eyes flickering between Louis and the customer.

The chestnut haired girl points at Louis’ wrist that’s laying on top of the register, unconsciously having made its way closer to Harry’s fingers that are drumming the wooden counter, a few inches from his. ”The tattoos. They’re complimentary, right?”

It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last time someone asks about their tattoos. It barely fazes Louis anymore, but today, after all this time spent watching Harry and Will, he feels a rush of golden, warm happiness at the mention of it. He smiles and nods, ”Yeah, they are. Thank you.”

Somehow the girl doesn’t seem to take note of Will’s hand resting on Harry’s hip, more possessively than a minute ago or the way his brown eyes darken and his lips form a thin line. Harry doesn’t seem that bothered however, his green eyes flickering to his boyfriend’s face with a soft look on his face. Something in the man relaxes, maybe, but his hand’s still on Harry.

”Thanks so much,” Harry then says, his eyes more on Louis than the girl whose grey orbs are darting between the relatives, something close to adoration in her gaze.

Louis feels a flame licking at his insides under Harry’s fleeting look, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough for Louis, because it’s not the attention he wants – _deserves_ , yells the more demanding and darker side of his brain. The older doesn’t say anything, just slides his hand over the edge of the counter, placing his hand next to Harry’s so that their tattoos are lining up.

”Still looks good,” he simply nods, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

The taller’s deep pools bore in to Louis’, his lashes fluttering and the left corner of his mouth tugging upwards as he gently, almost imperceptibly nudges the side of the older’s hand with his pointer finger.

”Yeah,” Harry then says, his eyes crinkling.

Louis thinks he could probably drown in the pleasant, sloshing feeling of warmth inside him, but it’s nothing he’s not had before. His lips pull into a smile, his teeth peeking out from between them as he pulls his hand away and detaches himself from whatever mental cavern he had built for a second. Louis turns to look at the girl, her eyes now directed to Will, the man’s hand tugging Harry’s forearm with a hasty movement.

”C’mon, H,” he says, ”I can take the tube with you.”

Louis can feel Harry’s eyes slowly moving away from him to face his boyfriend. ”What? Lou’s got a car, there’s no point for you to come all the way to Ealing.”

Will’s brows inch closer to each other. They’re having a conversation with their eyes, Louis can tell, but even still – even with all the harm he might’ve caused with his jealous-self, he can’t turn his eyes away from where Harry pulls away from Will’s touch and how the other’s mouth turns downwards at the movement.

”Fine,” he eventually snaps, ”Guess I’ll just see you whenever then.”

Harry doesn’t get to say his goodbyes when the man’s already flying out the door. The customer’s still standing beside Harry, her eyes wider now than before. ”Oh,” she squeaks, ”Was that–,” she looks between the two men confusedly, yet like she’s embarrassed, ”You’re not?”

The taller of the two shakes his head, his rosy lips still in a small smile, though it’s dimmer than before. ”We’re not,” his eyes flick to Louis.

”Yeah, no,” the older says as well, offering the girl a smile, ”Just friends.”

She seems a little baffled, gazing at the door in a confused manner, her hand gesturing between them. ”Right,” she eventually exhales in a laugh, ”Sorry ’bout that.”

”Don’t worry about it. ’s all good,” Harry assures before turning to Louis, ”You ready to go then?”

“Yeah, one moment,” Louis can’t quite keep his eyes focused on the girl that’s bidding them goodbye, gaze drifting to Harry and his small, honest smile.

If it takes him a few minutes less to go through his remaining tasks, then no one really has to know.

–

”No, I’m telling you!” Harry insists, his bare belly rumbling with laughter, ”Louis was the worst diva out of them all.”

Niall shakes his head from the deck chair as he pulls his black, square shaped sunglasses over his blue eyes. ”I don’t believe you. He’s so put-together, just nope.”

Zayn snorts from beside the grill where he’s – according to his own words – helping Liam. Louis doesn’t see _how_ is leaning to his boss’ side while making the said boss laugh every three seconds helping, but he’s not questioning it. At least he’s not on Louis’ back about Harry now.

”What’re you laughing at?” Louis raises his brows as he takes a swig from his bottle.

”Nothing,” Zayn smirks at him, leaning against the grill only to have Liam push him away with a quiet ’you’ll tip it over’, ”Just think ’s funny that Niall’s missed the prime years of diva Louis.”

Harry points at the raven haired one, then opening his palm. ”See? Zayn knows.”

Niall pushes his glasses up to his hair again, examining Louis now. The older rolls his eyes and fixes him with a stare. ”I mean, he’s sassy, sure,” the Irish man nods, ”But diva? He’s so _not_.”

Harry shakes his head, he too looking at Louis. There’s something akin to wonder in his twinkling eyes, his dimples and teeth both showing. ”You have absolutely no idea, Ni,” he muses, ”Lou had all of them wrapped around his little finger.”

Liam finally turns away from the grill, his brown eyes just as amused as the Pakistani man’s beside him. ”Does that mean you too, Harry?”

The impish man barks out a laugh, but nods nonetheless. ”I guess you could say that.”

”As fun as it is to hear you lot talking about me like I’m not here,” Louis smiles with his lips pressed together, his brows mockingly raised, ”I don’t understand _why_ are we talking about this.”

His nephew takes the few steps that separate them and comes to stand by his side, throwing his arm around Louis’ shoulders. ”Because I think people need to know what a queen you truly are.”

Louis’ eyes narrow as he prods the younger’s side. ”Oh, please, Harry. You’re worse now than I ever was.”

”Not true,” Zayn pipes in, tilting his bottle towards the older and his nephew, ”Louis, with all the love, you were such a primadonna.”

Harry can’t hold in the cackle, his arm falling away from Louis. ”Oh good God,” he snickers, his voice low, ”That is the best way anyone’s ever described him. _Primadonna_.”

Though it amuses the oldest to some extent, he figures he shouldn’t give Harry – or his other friends – the pleasure, so he pretends to kick at the taller’s shin. ”Shut up.”

”Oh, don’t be like that, Lou,” Harry coos, coming closer again and pulling his writhing uncle to his side, ”You were the prettiest of ’em all. You should be a diva,” the younger’s lips are touching Louis’ hair and his words are only loud enough for Louis to hear them.

The older stops moving in Harry’s arms, but throws him a look, a glare really. ” _Shut up_.”

Harry pulls back the tiniest bit, just enough to meet Louis’ gaze. His lips are pulled into a smirk, his green eyes holding the usual mirth. ”I’m serious. The way you used to roll your hips whenever we went out dancing – that kept ’em all looking. You were always the one people’s eyes were on.”

Something unfamiliar to Louis flickers in the other’s eyes, something that makes him feel a little queasy under his skin. He sips from the bottle, all the while keeping eye contact with Harry. It’s not completely quiet around them, Liam and Zayn are speaking to each other at the grill and Niall’s scrolling on his phone, the tapping sound of his thumb hitting the screen reaching them every now and then.

”Maybe I was a primadonna,” Louis eventually admits, nodding, ”But they liked it. _You_ liked it.”

It’s not something he probably should’ve said, but the image of Harry and Will snuggling up to each other at _The Anchor_ is still fresh in his mind, even though it’s been a week already. Louis’ eyes challenge the younger’s, whose hand is now lazily laying on Louis’ hip and for a second it looks like he might laugh it off, but then, he takes a step closer, his lips back in Louis’ hair.

”Yeah,” he hums, ”Yeah I really did. Still do, actually. ’s not like you’ve lost the skill.”

A hot flare licks at Louis’ insides, but he absolutely refuses to acknowledge it. He blames the sweat on his skin on the sun and the warmth, rather than the fact that their bare bodies are touching all the way from Louis’ hipbone to his shoulder. He takes another swig from the beer bottle.

”I know I haven’t,” Louis says, his voice a tad lower, ”I’ve still got a few strings in me hands.” He casts Harry a meaningful look.

Because it’s true. Although Harry has always been Louis’ weak spot, it doesn’t mean that the older hadn’t been Harry’s. And he doesn’t care for denying his somewhat infamous reputation as a diva, because he’s always been one. He doesn’t care what people say about him, if they like him or not. When Louis was younger he thrived under people’s watching eyes, he was desperate for it. And Harry was the first person to grant him his undivided attention, of course. But the thing is, that while Harry was the first person to give Louis that attention, Harry was the _only_ person Louis ever gave his. And somehow it balanced out between them. Somehow it made Harry even more keen on keeping Louis’ eyes on him, whether it was about a footie game, minor art exhibition or just the way he dressed. Anything was fine, really, as long as Louis just gave him his time.

Harry’s lips pull into a slow smile. ”Yeah. You’ll always have one, y’know.”

Louis smiles as well. ”I know.”

–

The front door basically slams into the wall, causing Louis’ eyes to fly open and his heart to jump. For two whole seconds he lies in bed, listening to the noises coming from outside his room and trying to figure if he’s awake or asleep, before he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and trudges to his door, peeking outside.

Harry’s trying to hang his black pea coat on the rack, but it seems to be a hard task, the man’s legs staggering to the left and then to the right. His hands’ movements don’t follow his eyes’ and so every time he’s about to drape the jacket on the hook, he’s already moved several inches to the wrong direction. Louis watches the other’s futile attempts for a few passing moments, his eyelids heavy again and his bare skin prickling with the cold, before he takes some steps closer.

”Having trouble?” he murmurs, gaining Harry’s attention.

The younger’s eyes light up and his lips pull into a slow smile, before he turns to Louis who takes his jacket and easily hangs it on the rack. ”Thanks so much, Lou,” Harry sighs, kicking his shoes off to opposite directions, ”Thought I’d never make it.”

Louis snorts, tiredly eyeing the state his nephew’s in. He seems alright, despite being very drunk, his eyes aren’t properly glazed over, not in the way where they stare off in the distance and he’s still keeping them open. Louis has seen him worse. As Harry starts ridding his clothes, the older slips into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water and digs up an Advil from the cabinet. He doesn’t have to call for Harry, because the man’s tottering towards him already, his hands held out like a child’s who wants the candy.

”Here,” Louis mumbles, pushing the items in the other’s hands.

He stays back to watch Harry doesn’t drown in the water and once the younger’s succeeded at the simple task, Louis places the glass in the sink and nods towards the living room. ”Couch?”

The taller man drapes his arm over Louis’ shoulders for support and the other helps him towards the living space. Their walking is a little wobbly with Harry being so much taller than Louis and they don’t ever make it to their destination. In the hallway Louis has to correct his hold, his arm curling around Harry’s bare hips to keep him close and upright – and Louis doesn’t know what happens, because next thing Harry’s pushing him against the wall, his forearm holding the older in place.

Louis’ sleep mussed brain has trouble catching up, but the impact of hitting the hard surface behind him at least wakes him up a little. ”What the fuck, H?” Annoyance flares inside him.

Harry’s head lolls to the left, his green eyes piercing and surprisingly clear. A heavy sigh falls past his lips as his left hand comes to rest beside Louis’ head on the wall, their eyes locked. ”I’m mad,” the younger says, but he looks confused, like he’s not sure if this is what he meant to say.

The older presses his back against the wall firmer, his eyes scanning Harry’s face warily. ”At me? What’ve I done now?”

A frustrated huff flares Harry’s nostrils as he juts his jaw, clearly annoyed now. ”Not _you_ ,” he then grumbles, his eyes intense even in the dim space, ”Us. The distance and.. you. And me.”

Louis’ brows knit together, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. An uncomfortable feeling spreads its wings inside his chest as Harry groans, averting his gaze. ”You’re not making any sense, Harry. You say you’re not mad at me, but then you say you are?”

The younger’s lashes flutter, his lips pressing together and his arm’s hold tightens. Louis’ eyes flicker from the hand to Harry’s nearly agitated face, before he huffs and tries to push the taller man away. ”I don’t have time for this,” he mutters from between his teeth, ”You and your drunken slurs, mood swings. I’ve got work in the morning, let me go.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tilt downwards and his forehead creases as he pushes closer, presses Louis’ back against the wall again. He’s so close Louis can smell the tequila and lime in his breath and something warm coils inside him. ”No.”

Louis’ jaw strains. ”Harry,” he challenges the other with his blazing eyes, ”Let me fucking _go_.”

Harry shakes his head stubbornly, his hips pushing closer as well, not quite touching Louis’. ”I don’t want to,” he says with a low voice, his expression disgruntled, but something in his demeanor very hurt, wounded, ”I don’t _want_ to. You.. You’re supposed to be right there and – _no,”_ his eyes search Louis’, ”You have to keep me.”

None of the words make any sense to Louis, nothing there’s something he’s heard before. Harry doesn’t seem too sure himself what he’s on about, but the older can see that little ray of fear in the curve of his lips and the tightness of his jaw, his glazed over eyes.

At a loss of words, confused, Louis nods. ”I’m keeping you,” his voice is quiet and much softer than a second ago as his right hand comes to rest on top of Harry’s right forearm, still tightly pressed against Louis’ chest, ”I’m keeping you.”

The younger’s eyes focus on the spot where Louis’ fingers are lightly stroking his skin, his hold loosening bit by bit. His head’s lolling again, but he manages to pick it up to face the older again. ”Even if I’d be bad?”

Honesty and fear, they shine through the words and through the look Harry’s giving Louis. The smaller squeezes Harry’s hand as he swallows past the slowly forming lump in his throat. ”Even then.”

Harry exhales, the breath hitting Louis’ lips just a fraction of a second later. Louis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, what’s the right thing to do, so he lets Harry stand before him, mumbling to himself, and keeps brushing his thumb over the tendons on his arm every now and then, until the younger pulls back just enough to drop his hands to Louis’ shirtless hips.

”He’s an asshole,” Harry’s voice cracks, his thumbs pressing hard against the older’s hipbones.

A wave of disappointment hits Louis, but he doesn’t let it show. He gathers himself up before even falling apart and brings his hands to either side of Harry’s neck that’s vibrating with silent cries. He caresses the skin there, adding pressure under the man’s ears and behind them. There’s nothing he can say, he’s learned. If Louis agrees with Harry, he’ll look bad the following morning when Harry’s ready to forgive his boyfriend. If he disagrees, it means he’s encouraging the relationship – which he doesn’t want to do. Doesn’t think it’s the right thing to do.

”Like,” Harry sniffles, ”Why does he care who I hang out with? What’s it to him. I’d never cheat with..” the man’s eyes lift up to look at Louis, his teeth gnawing on his plump lower lip.

”I know you’d never cheat on him, H,” Louis consoles, his lips quirking up into a half-smile.

The younger shakes his head, a shaky breath following. ”I would, though,” he whispers as his eyes bore into Louis’, desperate and somehow far away from the moment.

Louis would take a step back if he wasn’t trapped in, would probably leave the room altogether, because suddenly he’s burning inside. Burning in that violent way, where the fire is ruthless and leaves behind nothing but ashes and unidentified belongings that once were someone’s life. The older shudders, Harry’s hands pressing on him tighter.

”You wouldn’t,” he tries, a slight up-tilt to his tone, ”Harry, you love him, right? You wouldn’t hurt him.”

The younger’s lower lip wobbles a little when he releases it from between his teeth and he shakes with a small laugh. ”Right,” he nods, avoiding Louis’ eyes by ducking his head, ”But I don’t even know what love is. And he keeps hurting me, I just.. It’s horrible, but..”

Louis tilts his head downwards and to the right to meet the taller’s eyes. ”But what?”

”I just want to give back some of that,” he mutters, ”The hurt.”

”No, you don’t,” Louis easily says, his hands still cradling the younger’s neck and his fingers pressing soothingly there, ”I promise you, you don’t.”

Harry lifts his head again, Louis’ following suit. ”Fine,” he sniffles again and guides his right hand to the back of Louis’ neck, forcing the older to drop his left hand, ”Can I try, though?”

Louis’ brows knit. ”Try what?”

Something hesitating, yet determined flashes in Harry eyes, before his right hand’s climbing up in Louis’ hair and tugging slightly to reveal the older’s neck. A hot shiver of pleasure runs through Louis at the touch, his eyes falling shut by default, his hands’ hold tightening on Harry.

He can feel a hot breath on his neck, warm and so close Louis has to force his eyes open. ”Harry..?”

The taller doesn’t say another word, but he nudges Louis’ jaw with his nose, urging the older to turn his head more to the left. He could easily pull Louis’ hair a tad harder, but he’s not doing that – he’s asking for Louis’ permission. Everything around them is spinning. Flashbacks from the past are zooming by and suddenly Louis isn’t sure if he’s actually in his own body, because there’s still a small, high sound that escapes his throat, something compliant.

And then Harry’s damp lips are on his skin, his wet tongue poking out to taste the salty mix of sweat and man, while his left hand’s squeezing Louis’ hip tightly and his right’s gently tugging his hair. Louis’ stomach somersaults at every poke of a tongue and deeper suck and sound. His hips stutter forward when Harry’s teeth bite down on him a little bit harder than if he’d be sober, the pain just on the right side of pleasurable. Hot puffs of air slip past the younger’s lips on Louis’ skin, jolts running through Louis with the sensation and he can’t even bring himself to pull away.

An incoherent, small moan falls from the older’s mouth when Harry’s hips push closer and his hand moves to the small of Louis’ back, stroking there while pressing them closer, closer, closer. Louis’ own, smaller hand weaves through Harry’s hair, his ears attentive to every little sound escaping Harry’s lips and throat, the older’s skin receiving it all. It feels _so_ good, Louis thinks he’s losing it. It’s just a tongue and a pair of lips on his neck, but his knees are wobbly and his stomach feels like it’s floating and not attached to his insides at all.

Harry moves his lips closer to Louis’ ear, nibbling on his way up his neck while his hand travels up Louis’ back with his nails against his skin. Another shiver shoots through Louis as he bites down on his lower lip. Harry licks a long, wet stripe from under his ear all the way to the dip of his collarbone and sucks a kiss there, his pointy teeth sinking in the thin skin, making another moan tumble out of Louis.

”Haz,” he breathes out, forcing his eyes open, which is a mistake.

His nephew’s eyes are directed up at him, his shiny, wet, lips round, the lower one still attached to Louis’ skin. Harry’s emeralds are hazy, but he doesn’t seem one bit out of it, just very, very aroused. Louis quickly shuts his eyes again, takes a deep breath and opens them once more. ”We’re not.. Will..” he tries, Harry’s desperate gaze on his lips.

Harry’s pressing the throbbing spot on Louis’ neck with his thumb and the pressure increases at Louis’ words. The younger straightens up, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his right hand tugs on the older’s hair again, Louis’ lashes fluttering involuntarily. With a second of debating, Harry leans closer, his lips pressing on the older’s cheek, so close to the corner of Louis’ mouth he can feel it tingling.

” _Fine_ ,” the taller then whispers next to the other’s ear, his teeth still nibbling on his earlobe, ”But it feels good to do this. You know it does, Lou. And _he_ deserves it.”

With that, Harry pulls away and stumbles to the living room, leaving all of Louis’ body cold and shaking – everything outside him and inside him is unstable, his mind’s whirring and making loud noises of protest and his feet’s not carrying him anywhere. Louis can feel his heart beating against his rib cage and he can smell Harry’s tequila tinted breath like it’s still right there, next to his mouth.

_Shit_.

Weakly, he pushes himself away from the wall and adjusts himself in his briefs. He takes a breath and then another, before steeling everything and anything that might surface. Louis can’t deal with this now, these feelings and a drunken, handsy Harry. He’s got work in a few hours and no escape, so he has to push it all away. _It’s not the first time he’s been like this_ , he reminds himself as he drags himself towards the bedroom door. He notes Harry’s already sprawled on the couch and fast asleep as he passes the living room, but he doesn’t stop to look.

Louis pushes the door closed to his room and falls into his bed. That night, he doesn’t sleep a blink of an eye. He doesn’t touch himself even though he’s achingly hard, but he can’t stop his mind from working up scenarios. Some of them good, most of them horrifying. When he shuts off his alarm and gets up from the pillowy soft mattress, he eyes the huge love bite on his neck in the mirror. _You let him burn you._ Louis thumbs over the sore spot, the twinge of pain so pleasant he thinks he could get off on it and his own hand alone. He doesn’t.

But when he leaves for work, he doesn’t cover up the mark. He spares Harry’s sleeping figure a glance and even puts a water glass on the couch table for him to drink once he’s up. When he arrives at _The Anchor_ , no one there asks about the mark, they only smirk at him and Louis pretends it’s all fun and games – like it is.

Still, his head’s a mess all day long and he keeps counting the hours he gets to slip out and find Zayn. Just to have someone who understands, who doesn’t say a thing about it and offers him a pint or two. Maybe then it’ll be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

”Where you off to?” Harry’s curious eyes peer over the back of the couch as Louis stops in front of the mirror in the hallway.

He cards through his fringe a couple times, trying to straighten out the one hair that seems to stick up no matter what. ”Out.”

”Well, duh,” the younger snorts, ”I meant where and with who?”

Louis’ gaze moves sideways to catch his nephew’s eyes and his thin lips pull into an involuntary smirk. Harry’d been out partying the previous night with Will, Niall and some of his other friends Louis’ only met a couple times. Because of his hangover, he’s been lounging on the couch all day long, didn’t even join the older on his midday jog before he left for work. Though the late night might not be the only reason he didn’t join. The taller man looks pleasantly ruffled, his hair a tousled mess on top of his head, his green eyes finally gained some of the colour back, much like his cheeks.

”I thought I’d moved out from me mum’s house a long time ago,” the older hums, smirk still in place, but his eyes back on his own reflection.

The hair is still sticking up and Louis decides it’s not worth it anyways. It’s not like he’s going to meet his soulmate tonight or whatever.

Harry rolls off the couch and itches his lower belly – void of any clothes of course – while strutting towards Louis, his eyes calculating. ”You have a date?”

The older straightens up, his blue sapphires barely glancing Harry’s way. He _has_ to do this if he wants to stay sane. There’d already been a couple incidents that can’t happen again, so basically he’s already put this off longer than he should’ve. His eyes skim the spot where he’d hidden the mark from three nights ago, but he doesn’t touch it. ”Maybe.”

The younger’s brows pinch, his lips pursing. ”I didn’t know you’ve met someone.”

Louis lets a silent laugh fall out of his mouth as he examines his nearly see-through black shirt that’s hanging over his ripped, pale-blue jeans in the mirror. ”It’s not like I’d tell you,” his eyes flicker to Harry, the taller’s mouth now in a firm line, disappoint colouring his eyes, ”I mean, I don’t even know him, not really.”

”It’s a blind date?”

The older tilts his head from left to right, contemplating how to put his words. It’s not a blind date, not really. He’d met Matthew a couple times when he’s come around the pub, but all he really knows about the man is that he’s Liam’s cousin and he’s got a massive crush on Louis. ”Not really,” he shrugs, finally completely turning to face his nephew, ”How do I look?”

Harry seems a little fazed at the lack of Louis’ explanation, but he doesn’t inquire any further. His eyes hesitantly break away from the older’s to give the man’s outfit a once over. Louis lifts his arms up, away from his sides and does a little twirl, just to amuse Harry a little.

”You look gorgeous,” the younger huffs, as if he’s offended by the fact, but there’s a small smile on his lips now.

Louis flutters his eyelashes while intertwining his fingers below his chin. ” _Really?_ Wow. That is not a light compliment, H.”

Harry swats at his crossed hands, grumbling. ”Shut up.”

With a laugh the older ruffles his hair once more, before picking up the keys to the flat. It’s still warm out, but the clock’s past eight already and by the time Louis’ coming home it’s going to be chilly, so he picks up his green parka jacket with him. He pats his pockets to check he’s got his wallet on him and then pulls on his Vans.

”Should I stay up and wait for you?” Harry drawls, his voice teasing.

A small thing, something that reminds Louis a lot of the feeling of being temporarily fed up, crawls up his spine and really, it’s just a snap decision when he leans to his left and opens the drawer on the bureau. He locks gazes with Harry as he pulls out a couple of condoms, sliding them to his jeans’ pocket.

”I’d say no to that,” Louis then says, his voice eerily cheery.

Harry’s posture changes, his previously relaxed muscles now clearly taut under his skin. ”Be safe,” he mutters, a half-smile flickering across his lips.

The older smiles at him, something a little wicked swimming inside him. ”Oh, I intend to.”

*

Matthew’s nice. He’s a paramedic who volunteers at the elder’s home every other Saturday if he’s not working and he’s already got his future pretty much planned out: two kids, a Mercedes and a dog, somewhere near Brighton, possibly. Louis isn’t sure if he’s supposed to be rejoicing, because the man has so much to tell about his life, Louis has barely had the chance to open about his or if maybe he should start thinking about his own life choices a bit more intensely, seeing as they are almost the same age, and yet Louis can’t even decide what he wants for dinner tomorrow.

At first he’d felt a bit overwhelmed by all these achievements Matthew has made in all of his twenty-seven-years long life, but then Louis’d reminded himself that he’s not actually looking to settle down at the moment. He’d said that to Liam as well, who’d assured him it’s not an issue.

They’ve talked a lot during the few hours they’ve sat at a pub in West London, not too far from Louis’ flat actually. Louis has already downed more pints than probably is acceptable on a first date, but then again, his mind had been fighting against him until he’d gotten the fourth one down. Even though Louis doesn’t particularly enjoy the differences in their social life and natures, he actually thanks God for the differences in their bodies.

Whereas Louis’ only average height – some would even use a word as powerful as _short_ – and his body’s petite, but decently muscular, Matthew’s tall and his muscles are visible through his black shirt. Now, Louis doesn’t usually much care for appearances, but when he’s out to have sex after such a long time, he hopes to get fucked so hard it’ll stick with him for at least two weeks, if not longer. Of course, no one’s body indicates anything about their skills in bed, but Louis’ been tracking the man’s hands’ movements all night long: how his fingers are long and the tendons in his wrist show even with the slightest clenching of his fist. And maybe he’d asked Liam a question or two, the poor lad completely unaware of what Louis would do with such information as does his cousin maybe do yoga or perhaps horseback riding.

”You’re pretty sassy, Louis. Has anyone ever told you that?” Matthew asks over a laugh, his pint glass sweating in his hand.

”Nah, not really,” the younger of the two shrugs, his eyes hopefully twinkling with something else than just alcohol, ”They say I’m pretty tame actually.”

Matthew’s eyebrows rise as he inches closer, his thigh connecting with Louis’. ”Is that so? Why d’you think Liam told me you like to boss people around then? Was he just trying to talk you up?”

Heat flashes through Louis’ small body, his grip on the glass tightening. ”Oh, Liam did?” he flutters his lashes, ”And you think _that_ would be talking me up?”

The older lifts his other shoulder a little and guides an arm around Louis. He looks handsome up close, too, his angular face and slightly round eyes somehow complementing each other. ”Maybe I like that.”

It’s horrible, really, how the urge pulls Louis forward and his hand comes to rest on Matthew’s thigh. He’s not even had _that_ much to drink, still hundred percent coherent, but he’s already so aroused it’s not even real. ”Well,” Louis meets the taller’s brown eyes, his fingers slowly walking their way to the inner seam of the man’s jeans, ”Guess you just have to find out for yourself then.”

Matthew’s thin lips quirk up as he gently pulls Louis close, his right hand on the younger’s neck. Louis’ mouth opens into the kiss, his hand squeezing the older’s thigh where it rests and his other hand coming to rest on his cheek. It’s not an intense kiss, but Louis wishes it would be. He must be a horrible person for wanting to get between the sheets and then out of them – maybe not as fast as possible, but he still doesn’t want to dawdle either – and Matthew’s such a nice guy, too. Louis doesn’t rush it, however, fully aware of the fact that he’s supposed to be taking everything he can out of this. Their lips glide together easily, their tongues touching tentatively and something somersaults in Louis’ stomach.

He pulls back first, but stays close, their mouths hovering and nearly touching. ”Can we go to yours?”

Matthew’s hazy eyes meet Louis’ as he nods and then they’re out of the booth, grabbing their jackets and leaving behind the warmth of the cosy pub. As they’re walking further away from the building, Louis can feel the cells in his body vibrating with anticipation. Matthew takes his hand and sends a shiver through the younger. ”I live close, d’you mind if we walk?”

Louis shakes his head. ”Not at all. ’s probably good to sober up a little.”

The older smirks, his voice teasing. ”You’re not that drunk, are you?”

”No, not really,” Louis grins, squeezing his date’s hand gently, ”Just think it’s good to have some fresh air.”

”Yeah,” the other nods, ”Hey, don’t you live somewhere around here as well? Liam mentioned.”

It’s pathetic how by that one sentence only, Louis’ mind is thrown right back to the night from three days ago. The touches, the urgency. To Harry. He clears his throat. ”Yeah, yeah,” he points to somewhere on their right, ”That way.”

”Cool,” Matthew says, his tone easy, ”You have a flatmate too, yeah? What’s it like to live with one?”

Louis’ steps falter a little, his mind completely elsewhere now. His brows scrunch as he tries to scold himself, tries to rip himself away from the one person he’s not supposed to think about. This night is all about getting the relief he needs, all about trying to let go of that fucking frustration he’s been battling with for weeks now. He stubbornly pushes the images, the noises in to a box and figuratively sits on it.

”’s new to me too,” he admits, but his voice lacks the same lightness Matthew’s held, ”He moved in just some weeks back and is probably moving out in a bit. It’s temporary. ”

When Louis meets the taller’s eyes this time, there’s curiosity in them, something akin to hesitance, maybe, and the younger can’t even blame him. He knows the thrill in his voice has disappeared and they’re basically dragging onwards now, feet scuffing the asphalt. Louis simply hates what his life has become.

”Are you okay?” Matthew asks then, pulling them to a stop, forcing Louis to face him. ”You seem off, suddenly.”

Louis itches his neck and exhales. His gaze flickers towards where his flat is, where Harry is probably already asleep and still it feels like a magnet is pulling him in. The box’s lid flies open, knocking his imagined self down harshly and the contents are spilling all over. He sighs again. ”I’m alright. I’m just –,” his eyes meet Matthew’s, ”I don’t know.”

There’s kindness in the older’s eyes and his voice when he opens his mouth again, his hand stroking Louis’ forearm. ”It’s okay,” he nods once, ”We can do this another time, if you’re still up for it. I don’t mind.”

And Louis really is a poor excuse of a human being, because he says goodbye to Matthew, right then and there, before he starts slowly walking back to his. The whole way he keeps angrily shoving the spilled, forbidden shit back to that imagined box and chiding himself for being so stupid, so _selfish_ , because what good is it going to do to go home now? Harry’s asleep and even if he wasn’t, he’s not an option in any way. He’s Louis’ best friend, he’s technically his nephew and above all, he’s taken. Out of limits.

He walks slow and the clock’s past one a.m. once he’s back at his flat, pushing the door open as quietly as he can manage. It’s turns out to be unnecessary, because the TV’s still lit and Harry’s sitting on the couch, his head turned back to look at Louis toeing off his shoes and hanging his jacket. Their eyes meet, but Louis can’t make his way closer. He feels conflicted, more than ever and he’s not even drunk anymore, not like he was before.

”That was fast,” Harry comments, his voice relatively quiet but unreadable.

The older averts his gaze and drops the keys into the bowl on the bureau. He drowns his hands into his pockets as he takes a few steps closer and directs his eyes to the screen as if he was watching it. ”Yeah. Was a onetime thing.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but Louis can see him turning his head away. It’s quiet apart from the muttering in the TV and Louis tries his best not to let it get awkward. They’re yet to talk about what happened a couple nights ago, just because that seems to be what they do. They avoid confronting things that are somehow messy or sensitive – maybe it’s just the human nature – and it’s affecting everything Louis does around Harry nowadays. He doesn’t like it.

”Was he good, then?”

The older’s head snaps downwards so quickly he thinks his neck might’ve cracked a little. Harry’s facing the TV and fiddling with his fingers on his lap. Louis can’t read his tone and he’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol in his blood, or because he simply doesn’t know what tone this is.

”You..” Louis’ brows pinch together, ”You’re asking me if- if my fuck was good? Seriously?”

His own voice is somewhat disbelieving, his hands pulling out of his tight pockets as he takes enough steps to be able to see Harry’s expression, hoping it’d hint something of the man’s mood. Harry’s clearly gritting his teeth behind his pressed-together lips, but other than that, he seems calm and collected.

”Yeah? Can’t I?” he finally meets Louis’ eyes and yet again, it feels like a whiplash when the older can’t get a single clue of what’s going on under that brown hair.

Louis spreads his hands, still frowning. ”Sure. But is that really something you wanna know?”

Something familiar flickers through Harry’s eyes this time: anger. It’s brief, but it’s there and Louis can finally start working out what’s happening, what’s he missed. ”Maybe I want to. What’s it to you?”

Louis’ eyes bulge. ” _Me?_ Well, seeing as it’s my sex-life we’re discussing I think it’s pretty fucking obvious I’m a bit intrigued.”

They hold each other’s gazes for a long, tense moment, before Harry’s pushing himself up and much like three days ago, shoving Louis to the wall behind him. The older’s breath catches, not from the hurt, but from the rush of blood inside him. He doesn’t fight it, just lets Harry’s dark, green eyes stare into his blue, guarded ones. They’re still not talking and Louis absolutely _hates_ it how his body reacts to the younger’s touch.

”What’s going on?” he asks, his tone sharp, but not unkind. Never that.

Harry’s emeralds are still on him, but his grip loosens a little. ”I don’t know,” he shakes his head, tense, ”I just, I don’t like this.”

”This?” Louis’ voice pitches, tilting towards incredulous, ”What is _this?_ What are you on about?”

The taller’s lashes flutter, his hands falling away from Louis, leaving him feeling cold. Everything’s a mess again and Louis doesn’t know how it happened, where’d it go wrong, when he’d fucked up. Harry pushes his hair back, his anchor proudly standing on his wrist. Louis averts his gaze. ”I want to be close to you. Like we used to.”

The older’s brows knit again. ”When have we ever been close that way? The way that we’d share who we fuck for one night? When, H?”

Harry hides his face in his palms, but doesn’t turn away. ”Not like that,” he whispers, ”I just, I miss being close to you. Physically. _So_ much.”

Louis’ heart leaps at that. ”Physically..?”

The younger shows his agitated face again, biting down on his lower lip. ”Hugging. Cuddling, whatever,” he tentatively takes a hold of Louis’ hand, ”Sleeping next to you.”

This isn’t happening. Louis isn’t hearing this right, he’s just drunk and out of his mind. They haven’t done any of those things on regular basis in years. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’d willingly hugged Harry without a good reason to do so. ”I..,” he licks his lips, his gaze wandering around them, ”Yeah, I miss it, too,” he exhales, shakily.

Admitting this shouldn’t feel as big a deal as it does, Louis’ hundred percent sure of it, but it still does. Harry’s green eyes are boring into his soul, his strong hands now holding on to his hips. The younger’s breathing is uneven and his lashes flutter several times, as if he doesn’t know what to do with the information. And Louis thinks it’s allowed, because when had it become so weird? There used to be a time when they’d lie on a bed, side to side, chatting away while their hands drew undefined pictures on each other’s stomachs, on that strip of skin where their shirts had ridden up. And it was _normal_ for them. When had they thought that shouldn’t be a thing anymore? Of course they still hugged, they still shared more casual touches than most friends, probably, but never in an intimate way like that.

”Then please,” Harry’s drawl is bordering on desperate and his eyes are damp, illuminated by the blueish light coming from the TV.

”What?” Louis croaks, unable to turn his head away from the gravitating pull of the taller’s gaze.

”Just, just,” Harry’s head falls onto his shoulder, heavy and comforting, while his hands slowly rub Louis’ sides. Every touch leaves a vibration behind and Louis wants to slip out of Harry’s reach, just because this isn’t what he’s supposed to be feeling right now. ”Just, touch me. Be there, like you always were.”

The lids of Louis’ eyes feel heavy as they fall shut. He can’t remember when the distance got to them, not the exact date, not probably the month if the year either. Vaguely, somewhere at the back of his mind, he remembers feeling overwhelmed, though. Overwhelmed with the touches and closeness, the way Harry was always there with his warm skin and warm eyes and smiles – Louis hadn’t known how to deal with it all. He hadn’t distanced himself on purpose, but maybe it had been him after all. He’d needed the physical space to think, to sort out his inappropriate thoughts, but then it had stuck. They’d never grown back together quite the same, he realizes.

Tentatively, Louis lifts his hand on Harry’s chest, his fingertips brushing the soft fabric of his white t-shirt. His eyes blink open as his hand crawls up the younger’s pecs, now flat on it, before slipping behind his neck to give it a squeeze. He can feel Harry’s warm breath hitting his shoulder, the thin material of his shirt barely a barrier between the younger’s lips and Louis’ shoulder. ”Like this?”

Harry’s bigger palms are still caressing Louis’ sides in an even rhythm, but now his right hand is circling to the small of the older’s back, pulling him closer. ”Yeah,” he whispers.

It feels intimate and just as overwhelming as Louis remembers, being this close. And he doesn’t think they ever were like this – the air between them loaded and electric with the tension of the past days. They’d never had a years-long pause on the touching, either, however, so maybe it’s not so weird after all. Louis’ right hand shakes a little when he grips the hem of Harry’s shirt and twiddles with it, the taller man warm and relaxed against him, constant warm breathing on his shoulder.

Louis can think straight, he knows he’s not nearly drunk enough to ever say he’d done anything that happens now because he wasn’t sober, but he thinks that if he comes to regret it, maybe he could say he wasn’t in his right mind. He’s not sure if he ever is when he’s around Harry. The older’s small palm slides under Harry’s shirt, then, his thumb caressing his navel and his other fingers pressing on the skin of his hip, letting the smoothness of it imprint on him. His left hand’s carding through Harry’s hair and he leans his cheek to the other’s temple, his nose nudging at his hairline, inhaling.

It might’ve been a long time since he last drowned his nose in Harry’s hair, but the scent is certainly still the same. He smells like boy and soap and something akin to vanilla and it’s so familiar, Louis thinks some of the memories he’d already thought he’d forgotten crawl back into his mind, clear as a day. He can’t help the smile spreading on his lips as he pulls Harry closer.

”You feel so,” he exhales a laugh, ”Harry.”

The younger turns his head so that his cheek’s resting on Louis’ shoulder, his eyes directed at the older in a weird angle. ”Thanks, I guess?”

”’s good,” Louis nods, his hand gently tugging Harry’s longer strands of hair, ”You’re still the same.”

Harry’s grinning and both of his hands are kneading the flesh of Louis’ hips, the small pressure nicely opening some kinks Louis didn’t even know he had. ”I think you’ve got a little more muscle than before, actually,” the younger admits, his voice quiet but a lot more lighter than moments before.

The older snorts. ”Usually a person’s muscles get more pronounced when the baby fat disappears, so,” he pushes his hips forwards gently, shoving the other.

Harry lifts his head, forcing Louis’ to fall back as well. ”I’m serious, though,” he says as he lifts Louis’ shirt to reveal his navel and abs, ”These weren’t here when you were, like, twenty-two or something.”

Louis can feel a blush creep up his neck and towards his cheeks, but instead of acknowledging it, he leans his head back against the wall and morphs his expression into a smug one. ”You jealous?”

The roar of laughter that leaves Harry’s body makes the older’s skin prickle and he can feel the heaviness from before completely being lifted off him. ”You can’t be serious,” Harry snickers once he calms down a little, ”Look at mine.”

Harry’s hands leave his body to pull up his shirt up to his chest, revealing his perfectly toned stomach where Louis’ right hand is still playing, his thumb moving up and down on his skin. Both’s eyes’ are glued to the movement, but neither say anything about it. ”Yeah, fine,” Louis shrugs, still faking nonchalance, ”I guess they’re alright, too.”

The twinkle in the younger’s eye is blinding as he lets the shirt drop back down, hiding the other’s hand. ”Right.”

For a beat Louis doesn’t know what to say or do. It’s unsual for him to not have any words or banter ready at the tip of his tongue, but Harry’s eyes are pretty intense on him and he feels a little lightheaded. He feels happy, too. He can sense the nervous energy spilling out of Harry, but doesn’t know what to do with it, where it’s stemming from. As far as he’s concerned, they’re both relaxed and content.

”Could I, maybe, sleep in your bed tonight?”

Louis blinks, his hand finally stilling. ”And what? I’d sleep on the couch?”

Harry’s brows climb up on his forehead, a small smirk forming on his lips. ”Well, that would take away the point a little bit wouldn’t it?”

Louis’ eyes flicker to his left and then to his right, before coming back to Harry’s face. ”You want to sleep next to me?”

”Yeah.”

”Let me get this straight,” the older pulls his hands away from the other’s body to tick off a list on his fingers, ”You want to listen to me snore, for me to kick at your shins all night, get our skins all tacky with cuddling and wake up to my ten a.m. alarm clock. Free willingly?”

Harry’s beaming down at him, nodding his head. ”All of the above, yes.”

Louis squints at him, before pushing himself away from the wall and Harry further away in the process. He doesn’t reply right away, instead takes the remote control and shuts off the TV and picks up the plate and the glass from the coffee table. Louis can hear Harry trailing behind him as he goes to the kitchen to wash the dishes and he can feel the younger’s eyes on his back when he dries his hands.

”Lou?”

Louis turns around and raises his brows. ”Why’re you still here? I don’t like me bed cold.”

The smile on the younger’s lips is coy, his cheeks rounding as he waddles to Louis and circles his arms around the older’s waist. ”Yes, darlin’,” he drawls as he pecks Louis’ cheek and pulls away.

The smaller man watches Harry go, his hands braced on the edge of the counter behind him. Louis feels warm all over and he knows there are certain dangers hidden in that feeling, but at the same time there’s not one part in Louis that hates it. He can’t, because he knows how much it means to Harry when he shows he cares about the younger. And he can’t, because how can something like this sweet, bubbling feeling inside him, be something bad.

Louis pushes himself away from the counter along with the thoughts in his head and ambles towards the bedroom. When he nudges the slightly ajar door open with his knuckles, Harry’s already pulled Louis’ duvet on top of his naked torso and is scrolling on his phone, but his eyes flick to Louis when he steps inside. ”Hi.”

”Hey,” the older says, pulling off his shirt and throwing it in the hamper.

Harry’s eyes return to the device in his hand and Louis strips off the pale jeans, arranging them on the back of a chair neatly and throws his socks in the hamper with the shirt. He digs through his drawer to find a t-shirt to sleep in, but there’s a small noise of complaint coming from the bed.

”Don’t wear a shirt,” Harry mumbles, his voice low but easy to hear in the quiet space, ”I wanna be close.”

A fire coils in Louis’ lower stomach as his fingers hold the drawer with such force he thinks they’re going numb. He swallows, quietly pushing the drawer closed. ”Alright.”

Harry pulls the duvet away to let Louis slip in the bed and lets it fall on top of him once he’s settled on his back. The younger puts away his phone and turns to his side, supporting himself on his elbow, eyes watching Louis. ”Do I really need to remind you how cuddling works?”

A small huff of a laugh leaves Louis’ lips as he pushes his fringe away from his eyes. ”Nah,” he turns to look at Harry, ”Big spoon or little spoon, is the question.”

Harry’s lips form into a smile as he inches closer. ”Well, as you know,” his eyes twinkle, ”Normally I’m the little spoon. ’Freak-of-nature’ as you once said.”

Louis laughs louder this time. ”Was just weird, okay? You were taller than me, I didn’t know what to do with all those mile long limbs of yours.”

The younger’s hand comes to rest on top of Louis’ stomach, the duvet wrinkling under his fingers. He smiles brighter. ”You got the hang of it pretty quickly,” he assures then, ”But today I wanna be the big spoon, if that’s fine with you.”

Louis hums, nodding and turns his back to Harry, the other’s hand sliding to Louis’ hip. ”Whatever is fine.”

The older can feel Harry moving closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. Soon enough, the taller’s hand sneaks its way to Louis’ stomach and then up his chest to rest on Louis’ right pec. Harry’s nose buries in the back of Louis’ neck, sniffing while the younger hums contently. His tall, lean body is pressed up against Louis from head to toe, his dick thick and warm, but limp against Louis’ arse. The older takes a deep breath and moves his hand on top of Harry’s.

”Is this weird?” he asks, their fingers intertwining.

For a beat, Harry doesn’t say anything and Louis thinks he might’ve not heard him, but then the younger brushes his lips lightly under his ear. ”I don’t know. And I don’t care,” his voice is low and quiet, ”This is you and me. Just us.”

_Just us_ , Louis thinks as Harry’s thumb caresses the back of his hand and his eyes slip shut. ”Goodnight, H.”

”Night, Lou.”

It takes Louis several minutes to fall asleep, even though he can feel Harry’s breathing evening out. He wonders why’d he ever want to stop being like this, wonders how will he ever be able to now. The younger’s so warm and feels right against him, it shouldn’t even be possible. But Harry’s words echo through Louis’ mind, the ring of them so familiar from years and years back already. It’s always been just them. Against bullies, against shitty exes, against every odds – always just them. So maybe this, too, is _just them_.

The sleep comes suddenly and without Louis realizing it, pulling him into its sweet, warm, Harry-scented blanket. Louis doesn’t remember when’s the last time he slept as good as that night.

–

_July, 2005_

_Louis slips out of the door, quietly pulling it shut after him, mindful of that one creaky hinge he still hasn’t oiled even though his mother had asked him to do it weeks ago already. With lifting the door from its handle he manages to minimize any sounds and a relieved sigh escapes his lips. It’s not even that warm outside – clock way past one a.m. - but Louis’ striped t-shirt is sticking to his back as he turns around to take a few hasty steps towards the street. Once he’s made it farther away – so far he knows his mum or dad can’t see him from the kitchen window if they for some reason would have woken up – he starts jogging._

_The only sounds around him are the legs of his red khaki shorts brushing together with each stride and the quiet bird singing in the distance. At times like these, Louis’ very grateful for the fact that his sister didn’t end up moving very far away, making her little brother’s nightly rendezvous a tad easier than what they would’ve been if she’d actually moved in the heart of Manchester. Her small house is only a kilometre or so away, though, so it only takes Louis ten minutes to make the trip with his football player’s legs._

_The house is dark, of course, everything surrounding it just as peaceful as one would expect of a clear summer night. Louis sneaks his way to the backyard, climbing over the low, jagged stone wall with ease and dropping near the window at the back of the house – a room he knows all too well. He has to climb a few steps up the fire escape ladder to reach the ajar window, but once he does, he knocks on it softly and peers inside. Everything’s still in the dark room, the bed against the opposite wall stays unmoving, though Louis can clearly see a head of curls poking out from under the duvet._

_”Harry,” he whispers and knocks again, just a little louder this time._

_Something moves on the bed, the duvet travels down from Harry’s sleepy face and his eyes blink open slowly. For a moment the boy seems confused, as if he’s not sure if he’s actually awake, but then he lifts his head up and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand._

_”Louis?” he mumbles, getting up with slow movements and walking to the window._

_”Get dressed, you knob,” Louis giggles, pushing at Harry’s bare stomach with his knuckles._

_”What?” Harry asks around a yawn, his green eyes still a little unfocused. ”What for? It’s still night.”_

_The older boy looks at his ten-year-old nephew and for a second wonders if he’s still too young to be ripped out of bed in the middle of the night, but eventually decides he’s going to have to learn someday. ”We’re going on an adventure. Come on now, Hazza.”_

_It’s admirable how easily the boy gives in without asking further questions. Louis watches him pull on a loose t-shirt and a pair of shorts, before digging out his trainers from underneath his bed. ”’s the ladder too far for you to reach?” Louis whispers, trying to estimate the distance and Harry’s legs’ length._

_”’m fine,” the boy assures and ushers the older to climb down so he can get out as well._

_Louis hops to the ground and keeps his eyes on Harry, ready to help him if need be, but the younger manages just fine on his own. The work seems to wake him up a little more, as his eyes are finally bright and excited when he gets to Louis’ side. ”Where we off to?”_

_The taller boy smirks and tugs Harry’s hand to the stone wall without a word. Harry doesn’t ask anything else, just follows Louis’ lead and climbs over the wall and then starts silently running to the left and then right – away from the house. The further away they get, the faster they run and the more Louis’ soft giggles are catching on Harry and then they’re both laughing and racing each other towards wherever Louis is taking them._

_The air is warm, humid, and it’s probably going to rain sometime in the morning, but for now it’s perfect for the two boys. Their feet hit the asphalt, the slapping sound of their shoes hitting the ground a pleasant echo in the otherwise empty streets. The sky above them isn’t dark, but a little pink, the sun still setting but disappeared somewhere below the horizon. Louis leads them to the beach, the one and only beach they have in Doncaster and it’s not really even a beach, because there’s barely any sand. Just mostly little rocks and some patches of dried grass._

_Harry nearly hits Louis in the back when the older boy halts and they laugh. Both are panting heavily, their eyes filled with youth and summer and each other. ”Are you hot?”_

_The younger’s brows scrunch as he feels his stomach and back with his hands. ”Yeah, I’m sweaty. Why?”_

_A jovial twinkle appears in Louis’ blue eyes as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. ”We’re going swimming.”_

_For a moment Harry just stands still, breathing heavily and watching Louis kick off his shoes and rub his hands together. He knows the water isn’t exactly warm, but he wants to be a big boy as well – wants to dare himself. ”Okay.”_

_Louis watches as Harry rids his shirt and shoes as well and then they’re taking slow steps towards the lake. It’s not necessarily a good idea, but Louis had heard some girls giggling about doing this at football practice. He’d known they’d never dare because most of their fathers’ were too strict and had hawk’s eyes, but he’d thought it’d be fun to do with Harry. The younger’s always pining for him to do something that big boys do with him, to forget that he’s four years younger. So Louis had thought it’d be fun._

_”It’s gonna be so cold,” Harry murmurs, his fingers coming to nudge Louis’ palm. ”Will you hold my hand?”_

_A warm, fond smile spreads on Louis’ closed lips as he takes the other’s hand. Harry looks excited, but nervous and even though holding his hand takes away some of the ’big boy aura’, Louis still adores the boy. He doesn’t need or want Harry to be a big boy, because he’s great the way he is. Louis still wants to spend time with him and take him places. He even prefers it that way, because most of Louis’ own friends think Harry’s too young to hang out with them, so Louis gets to spend more time alone with his best friend. He’s a little afraid people might actually see just how amazing Harry is, if they’d give him the time Louis does._

_”Come on, then,” the older coos, ”It’s fun. We’ll just dip in and then run out.”_

_Harry’s green eyes look to his blue ones for a moment, before he nods. They count to three together and then they’re off, running on the stones and shouting when the cold water hits their skin. Both fall in for a dive, but neither let go of the other’s hand and when they surface again, sputtering water, Louis pulls Harry closer. ”Lou! It’s cold,” he whines._

_”Not it’s not,” the older laughs, walking deeper while dragging Harry along, ”Just swim, it’ll get warmer.”_

_And they swim. They wrestle each other in the water, they chase each other and have a water fight that lasts so long they can’t feel their toes properly when they finally stumble out of the lake. Both are shivering and trying to pull on their t-shirts, their lips blue but mouths laughing. Louis orders Harry to run home with him so that they can keep warm and somehow without agreeing on it aloud, they just make their way at Louis’ house._

_No one’s woken up and they slip inside and upstairs undetected, where Harry goes to Louis’ room while the older picks up some towels. ”Here,” he hands the younger a Spider-man one._

_With silent whispers and laughs they dry off and change into dry clothes from Louis’ closet, before climbing into the older’s bed together, pulling the duvet around them tightly. Harry drowns his cold fingers under Louis’ shirt and their feet tangle together to seek warmth, even though both’s are just as icy._

_”Mum’s gonna be worried in the morning,” Harry yawns, pressing his face into Louis’ neck, his lips brushing the skin there._

_Louis’ hands are rubbing his back and he pulls him closer, hiding his lips in the thick mop of curls. ”’s fine. Mum’ll tell Alice.”_

_They’re both spent and it doesn’t take more than a minute for the boys to fall into a deep slumber, limbs tangled together and bodies sharing warmth. Summer nights always were Louis’ favourite, he thinks before slipping away in to the dream land._

_–_

”So it was a no-go with Matthew then?” Liam asks from behind his bottle of Carlsberg, his brows raised at Louis.

The older extracts a single cigarette from Zayn’s pack on the table and easily slides it between his thin lips before lighting it up. ”He was great,” Louis assures after a deep inhale, smoke pouring out of his nose, ”Just wasn’t feeling up to it. Sorry, mate. You had to go all that trouble.”

Liam snorts at that, the crinkles by his eyes appearing and his row of white teeth showing. ”Wouldn’t say it was trouble, really. Matthew was.. well, he was excited for it, let’s just say that.”

Zayn’s shuffling the deck of cards between the two men, his eyes quickly flitting to the oldest of the bunch but his expression stays neutral. ”Thought you quit smoking, Lou,” he points out, casually, ”Something stressing you out man?”

The older’s eyes narrow as he takes another drag from the cigarette and adjusts the cap on his head. ”I’m good, thanks for asking,” Louis throws a sharp look at his best friend, ”But yeah, Liam, just tell Matt he was really great and I had a blast. I’d like to try again sometime soon.”

”Okay, cool,” Liam nods, smiling, ”I’m sure he’s gonna be thrilled.”

Zayn deals them their cards and they kick off a game of Blackjack while Louis steers the conversation in another direction. ”So, where’d you two meet?”

”At the bar,” Zayn simply says, his amber eyes keenly on his cards.

Louis turns to Liam who’s lips are pulling upwards as he keeps glancing in the other man’s way.

”Alright,” the oldest says, dragging the word, ”How’d you get to know each other? I don’t think I ever introduced you?”

This time his best friend turns to look at him, his dark brows raised and lips in a thin line. It’s a dare – _don’t step over the line_ – but honestly, who can blame Louis at this point. Lately Zayn’s been seeing Liam more than Louis probably and he’s offered no sort of explanation for their sudden friendship. He’s curious, of course he is.

”Zayn came by one night when you’d already left,” Liam’s voice is a tad amused as if there’s something funny about the story, ”I’d been moody all day and well, he’s fun. So we got to talking and, yeah.”

”We met before, though,” the one with the dark hair says, ”I’ve been to the pub before. Don’t know if you remember, though.”

Louis follows the conversation with keen interest while pretending to ponder on his cards. Liam’s features soften at his best mate’s words, his big, brown eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree, but his jaw strains the tiniest bit – Louis only notices because he’s spent days trying to read his boss’ mood, trying to avoid landmines.

”Of course I remember,” he eventually says while fiddling with the cards in his hand, ”It’s not like you’ve got a face that’s easy to forget.”

The said face goes a little crimson at Liam’s words and Louis thinks he’s finally working out the dynamics in their relationship. Or at least getting the hang of it. It’s blatantly clear that Zayn’s infatuated with the other man, but as far as Louis knows, Liam’s engaged to this lovely lady called Sophia. Though, if you asked Louis’ opinion, he’d pick Zayn over the woman a hundred times, even if he fancied women.

”Careful there, Liam,” Louis chuckles, throwing a card on the table and taking a drag from the Marlboro, ”He’s got a massive ego as it is. I don’t need me best mate flaunting about it anymore than he does already.”

”Says the primadonna,” Zayn mutters, rolling his eyes.

Liam laughs at them, his lips open wide and teeth showing. He seems genuinely amused by them and not bothered at all. Louis considers them to be friends by now, but he hasn’t hung out with the man enough to know if he’s truly as nice as he seems. Zayn’s always been the one with the intuition when it comes to people, but maybe he’s biased this time.

”How long have you two known each other for?” Liam asks then.

Louis takes a sip from his bottle, squinting his eyes at the ceiling above them before turning to Zayn. The younger’s pinching his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, tilting his head from left to right, pondering. ”Since we were eighteen, I guess? For a long time anyways.”

The older shakes his head and points his friend with the green bottle, the memory of meeting his best friend suddenly appearing from somewhere deep in his mind. ”We were nineteen. Had to be, because Haz was taking his GCSEs that year and we had that huge party, that’s where we met.”

Zayn snaps his fingers, recollection clear on his face as he nods. ”Right. Though I didn’t meet Harry that night,” he muses, ”I remember thinking it was weird ’coz you two were basically attached at the hip every time I saw you with him.”

Louis snorts, but doesn’t deny the statement. Back then they still were, quite literally, too. Where ever Harry went, Louis followed, usually.

”Oh,” Liam pipes up, another easy smile on his lips, ”So how long have you and Harry known then? He seems like an alright lad, quite chilled.”

”Chilled,” Zayn snickers, ”He’s chilled alright.”

Liam gives him a curious look, but Louis doesn’t let the conversation about his nephew’s raucous nature get any further, instead answering Liam’s question. ”We’ve known since we were kids. We’re, uh, family. Sort of.”

It would be the understatement of the year to say that Liam seems surprised. His eyes round almost comically and his mouth falls open, his eyebrows knitting together. ”Liam?” Zayn nudges the man’s knee with his own. ”You alright there, mate?”

”Yes. Yeah,” he huffs a laugh, hand rubbing the back of his neck, ”I just assumed.. Well, Harry was so close to you. I thought there was something there, maybe.”

Louis almost inhales a spoonful of his Carlsberg at Liam’s words, a violent cough tumbling out of him as Zayn tries to pat his back. ”No. Nope,” the oldest croaks, his eyes meeting Liam’s, ”Just, uh, friends.”

”Harry’s very touchy,” Zayn, bless him, explains, ”He’s always been like that with his closest friends.”

”Ah,” Liam nods, but his eyes are still curious, eyeing Louis’ hunched figure with interest. ”Well I suppose you wouldn’t have asked me to set you up with Matt if you’d been.. In a compromised situation.”

That pulls a laugh out of them all, the odd wording saving many secrets from being spilled, Louis thinks. ”Do the muscles run in the family, by the way?” Louis muses, smirking, ”Like, you’re both so burly and big.”

Liam bursts into a laugh, shaking his head. ”No way. You should see David, my other cousin. He’s like a strand of hay, that guy. I just enjoy the occasional work out, as does Matt.”

”Occasional,” Zayn mumbles, his amber eyes shamelessly checking Liam out, ”I’d beg to differ.”

Louis puts out his cigarette while shaking his head. ”I’m so third-wheeling right now,” he mutters before throwing the cards on the table, ”I think I’ll go. Haz has probably made dinner,” he says louder.

Both men turn to look at him when he gets up, smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. ”Sure. See you at work tomorrow,” Liam nods his way.

”Yeah,” Louis returns the gesture and squeezes Zayn’s shoulder in passing, ”Be nice,” he mouths from the balcony door.

The last thing he sees is Zayn’s middle finger and rosy cheeks.

–

Waking up with a warm body plastered to his back isn’t something that’s happened to Louis in a long time. He’s much more used to shivering from cold under the thin blanket he’s too cheap to replace, but this morning isn’t like that. When he blinks his eyes open, lids heavy from the deep slumber, and blindly reaches for his blaring alarm, he feels warm all over. Having learned from his mistake, Louis taps the screen with his pointer finger instead of throwing the phone on the floor, before leaning back into Harry’s embrace.

The taller man’s long limbs are curled all around Louis’ body – his left arm is draped over the older’s chest, his left leg hitched up on Louis’ body to rest on his hips under the duvet and his face is nestled in the crook of his neck. Soft, warm puffs of air hit Louis’ skin there, making it nearly impossible to even consider getting up. The clock’s just past ten, only seven hours or so passed since the smaller managed to fall asleep. His body feels more tired than his mind, even though that, too, is a little rumpled from the previous night.

Louis’ left arm is safely tucked between their bodies, warm and cosy, but he pulls it away to itch his stomach. His eyes skid over to Harry’s peaceful figure as he carefully rolls on to his side to face the younger. Harry only twitches and pulls Louis closer, his eyes staying shut. It’s been a crazy week, Louis thinks as he gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind the younger’s ear. His own mind has been running in circles, but as if that wasn’t enough, now it seems Harry’s has started to do that as well. It feels somehow scary to think there used to be a time when this wasn’t weird, feels unpredictable. That’s the main reason Louis ever stopped doing this, probably. He’s not very good with surprises when it comes to Harry.

He’d thought about their relationship a lot over the past few days and the only thing he can think of doing right now, is the easiest thing: to go with it. In the end it’s always going to come down to Louis’ love for Harry – that love that will be there no matter what, in a shape or another. He can’t let Harry down, can’t let whatever unholy thoughts he has come between what they’d built over the years. It’s a given they both need each other and Louis doesn’t want to be the one to fuck anything up.

The older’s right palm splays over Harry’s slowly rising chest and he swallows. If it’ll ever get too hard, he’ll pack up whatever things he has and move to Leeds like he’s always planned. For now though.. For now he wants to keep Harry close.

Quietly, Louis pulls away from Harry’s comforting touch and slips out of the bed. He has to rush with his morning routine a little, but he’s managed to catch up to his schedule by the time he’s pulling on a plain, white t-shirt and his jean shorts that reach mid-thigh. Rustling from the bed catches Louis’ attention and he meets Harry’s tired gaze through the mirror.

”G’morning,” the younger’s smiling lazily, the duvet covering him only from hips down.

”Morning,” Louis’ eyes flit over Harry’s body, ”Sleep well?”

The taller stretches, all his taut muscles rippling under his skin with the movement. Louis’ blue sapphires don’t have the power in them to turn away while his hand idly strokes his fringe. ”Better than in months, actually,” Harry hums and aims his warm smile at the older. ”Are you leaving for work?”

Louis nods. ”Yeah. Only a six hour shift, though,” his hair doesn’t get any tamer, strands pointing in several different directions, ”If I ever look presentable enough,” he then grumbles.

Harry’s eyes flicker with amusement as he straightens out his legs until they hit the floor. He saunters out of the room, Louis’ gaze obediently following the sway of his hips, before the taller slips back into the space, a cap in his hand. ”Wear this.”

It’s one of Harry’s older ones, a little worn out at the edges, but not enough for it to look bad. A little retro, maybe, with the faded colours and all. Louis takes the offered item and adjusts it on top of his feathery hair, the worst of the mess hiding under Harry’s hat. ”Thanks,” the older murmurs, throwing the other a small smile.

”No problem. Have fun at work,” Harry says around a yawn, before he falls back on the bed and pulls the covers on top of him, his perfect back disappearing from Louis’ line of view.

Harry’s face is nuzzled against Louis’ pillow and his wild hair basically a halo around his head, the sleepy smile on his lips directed at the older. ” _Fun_ ,” the shorter of the two says, smacking his lips as if he’s tasting the word, ”That’s not really something I associate with work.”

The younger grins and pulls his own pillow against his chest. ”You could always stay here and cuddle,” his brows rise up, ”That’d be fun.”

”Yeah, I’m gonna pass,” Louis mock whispers before backing out of the door with a goofy face and a wave.

He takes the tube to work that morning, allowing himself a few extra minutes with the music in his ears. It doesn’t help much, but at least he looks somewhat calm when he reaches _The Anchor_ , despite the feelings brewing inside him.

–

”Are you sure it’s fine we bring one gift only?” Harry asks, gnawing on his thumbnail while intently staring at the small package on the kitchen table.

Louis huffs out a small breath of air and pushes his hand through the styled quiff on his head. ”Yes, Harry,” he calls out flatly, ”It’s not like you even know Waliyha that well.”

The younger ventures to the hallway, the neatly wrapped gift in his hand. It has a pair of earrings inside, ones that Zayn had actually picked out for them because apparently his nineteen-year-old sister is quite picky about these things, but Harry’s been worrying over it all morning despite Louis’ various attempts at trying to calm him. By now he’s stopped trying.

”We won’t be there for that long anyways, I don’t think,” Louis shrugs, his eyes travelling over the taller man’s body, dressed in a pair of black skinnies, his trademark Chelsea boots and a loose button-down with pink petals on it. ”You look nice.”

Harry looks down on himself and a smile breaks on his face. ”Thanks. So do you,” his long fingers tangle in the hem of Louis’ black sweater, ”I dig these new jeans. The rips are nice and the colour suits you.”

Lately the older has been trying to branch out with his clothing, mainly because Zayn’s been very persistent about his fashion taste. Louis isn’t sure what exactly is wrong with his Adidas hoodies and joggers – aren’t they considered fashionable these days, anyways – but he’s been trying to look for something a little different. He does own two black skinny jeans, but he quite likes these new pale blue ones, because they’re a bit more loose on him.

”Thanks,” he smiles and bends down to pull on his white Vans.

”Are we taking the tube? I reckon we’ll both be drinking, yeah?” Harry asks, his palm swiping across Louis’ lower back as the smaller straightens up.

”Yeah, that’s what I had in mind,” he grabs the keys from the bureau and for a moment considers taking his jackets as well, but in the end opts not to. He’d probably forget it at Zayn’s anyway.

They leave the flat and take the twenty-minute tube ride to Louis’ best mate’s house where the party is already in full swing. Louis had work earlier so they’re a little late, but Harry seems to be more comfortable with that anyways. The flat is filled with Zayn and Waliyha’s cousins, most of whom Louis hasn’t even met or if he has, he’s been so drunk he can’t remember their names. He does recognize Zayn’s other sisters and their boyfriends though, and much to his surprise, Liam.

”Hey, boss,” Louis nudges the other man engrossed in a conversation with Zayn’s older sister Doniya.

”Louis, hi!” Liam pulls the older into a brief, one-armed hug before slapping Harry’s hand, friendly, ”Glad to see you both finally made it. How was it at the pub?”

”Was fine, busy as per usual. Leigh’s got it covered, though,” he assures with a wave of his hand and shimmies his way past his employer to give Doniya a hug.

”’s been ages, Lou,” Doniya coos, her amber hued eyes crinkling at the corners, ”I’ve missed you so much.”

Louis pulls her into another hug and takes a generous wiff of her perfume, Chanel clogging his nostrils and prickling at the insides of his nose. She smells familiar and brings a smile on the man’s face. ”Tell me about it. I was supposed to stop by when I last went to Eastbourne. How are things by the shore?”

Doniya rolls her eyes, exasperated, clearly, and then she sets off to tell Louis all about her boyfriend Khan’s new job and how he really doesn’t get paid enough for the amount of work he does. It’s actually really refreshing to hear about someone else’s life, someone who he doesn’t see nearly daily. Doniya is a couple years older than Louis and somehow he’s always looked up to her. She’s got her life together in a remarkable way – a house, a boyfriend and a permanent job as a doctor – Louis only hopes he’s going to be able to reach something like that one day.

”Well, Khan’s happy with it, so I suppose I should be too,” Doniya sighs, but her eyes are smiling, ”Enough about my boring life, though. Tell me about yours, what’s new?”

An actual laugh falls from Louis’ lips at the words, his eyes skimming the room to spot Harry who’d at some point disappeared from his side. He finds the younger by the drinks table, chatting away with Liam and Zayn, blending in without a hint of trouble despite the nerves he’d had all day. ”Nothing, really,” Louis admits, turning back to Doniya, ”Work. And Harry. And then some more work.”

The older’s brown eyes land on Harry easily, although she’s only met the younger man once if Louis recalls correctly, at one of Zayn’s birthday parties. She seems intrigued, though. ”He’s only gotten more handsome since I last saw him. What was it, like, four years ago?”

Louis follows her line of gaze until he reaches Harry’s side profile. Four years ago Harry was only nineteen, his hair was still a mop of long curls and he had the tiniest bit of baby fat around his cheeks and belly. But he was handsome back then, too. Maybe he’s more defined now, more mature looking with his shorter hair and angular face, sharp jawline truly gaze gravitating, but he was handsome all the same.

”He’s just grown up, ’s all,” Louis laughs softly, tearing his eyes away from his nephew once again, ”Still cheeky as hell, though.”

A heartfelt laugh raises all the way from the woman’s belly as her hand lands on Louis’ forearm. ”Well, of course. If he still spends time with you as much as back then, there’s really no other way, is there.”

Louis grins at her and is about to protest, when Zayn’s arm lands on his shoulders and Harry appears on his other side with Waliyha in tow. ”I gave her our present,” Harry whispers to his ear, tone giddy.

”Hey, Vee,” Louis basically purrs as he pinches the girl’s cheeks only for her to slap his hands away.

”Louis,” she nods, her hands holding onto Louis’ tightly, ”Nice to see you, too.”

”Ugh, stop being such a grown up,” the older shudders, freeing his wrists from her hold and aiming an incredulous look at Zayn, ”When’d she become like this? All proper talk and no cheek-pinching.”

Zayn sighs, shaking his head and squeezes Louis’ shoulder. ”I don’t know, mate. I feel like I’m sixty or something.”

”Cut it out, you two,” Doniya points at the two men with her pointer finger, ”You’re young and pretty. No wrinkles to be seen, okay? I reserve the right to complain about age.”

A loud chattering starts up from there, the group talking all over each other with laughter in their voices. Somewhere along the way it turns into and actual conversation about their lives, about university and customers at the pub and in the middle of it a cold bottle of beer is pushed into Louis’ hand, Harry tucking himself to his side. Louis can feel the taller man’s warm hand laying on his hip as he raves on about the older gentleman he calls Mr. Fussy, who frequents _The Anchor,_ and about his ridiculous demands. He can feel Harry’s breath hitting his neck whenever he laughs at Louis’ jokes and he can hear the sound of it so well, it makes him feel fuzzy inside.

People in the circle change, new ones appearing and others disappearing, but Harry never leaves Louis’ side. The mood around them is easy and relaxed, drinks and stories flowing between them and before Louis even knows it, the clock’s half past midnight, Waliyha announcing she wants to go clubbing.

”You coming?” Zayn turns to the two men standing attached to each other.

On one hand, Louis could benefit from a night out, but at the same time he doesn’t feel like getting smashed and wasting his one day off. And besides, if he goes, Harry will too, which most likely won’t result in anything too good. ”Nah, I think we’ll just head home.”

The raven-haired’s eyes flicker between them as Harry nods and downs the last of his beer. ”Alright,” he then nods, a half-smile on his lips before leaning in to hug Louis. ”Be careful.”

Louis pats his friend on the back and nods. ”You kids have fun,” he hollers over the noise of the people talking and sees Doniya raising two thumbs up while Liam’s slipping her high heel on her foot. ”Thanks for the party,” he says to Zayn.

They bid their goodbyes before Louis and Harry slip out of the flat along with some others who don’t fancy going out. Louis has to keep walking backwards to call his goodbyes to all the mildly drunken half-friends while Harry guides him on the pavement with his hand on Louis’ stomach. ”Watch out,” the younger laughs out when the other nearly falls over his own feet.

”Thanks,” Louis giggles and finally turns to face forward.

Life’s all around them, Friday nights aren’t exactly the quiet type in Hammersmith, but it’s nice. Louis’ pleasantly buzzed, his body feeling light, but his thoughts still attached and collected. Harry’s hand grabs his as they walk in silence towards the tube station and Louis doesn’t mind. They’ve been doing this closeness thing for about a week now and it’s not been as bad as Louis initially thought it would. Sure, the first two days he nearly jumped out of his skin every time Harry hugged him from behind in only his boxer briefs and sure, he’s woken up with a human-sized koala clinging to him every single morning ever since, but he’s been coping.

It’s gotten better. Louis has gotten better. The only problem now seems to be that he doesn’t know what to do with himself when Harry’s _not_ touching him. He vaguely remembers this being a problem years ago as well, but so far he’s not lost his mind over it, so he’s been taking it day at a time.

”D’you wanna order some Chinese take out?” he suggests as they sit down in the car of District Line.

”Sure, whatever you want,” Harry nods, his thumb swiping the back of Louis’ hand gently while his head leans down on the older’s shoulder.

The ride’s relatively quiet between them, Harry dozing off against Louis until they’re a stop away from their stop. Louis nudges him awake, raising his shoulder. ”Wake up.”

Harry blinks his eyes open and raises his head up with a sigh, his hand freeing from Louis’ to push back his hair, both hands carding through the mess. They get up from their seat and stand next to the door when the car slows down. When the doors slide open, Harry’s other foot is already out when a woman’s voice calls after them.

”Excuse me, sir,” someone taps on Louis’ shoulder blade, ”Your boyfriend’s Oyster card fell on the seat. Here you go.”

Louis accepts the card from the smiling lady and says a baffled thank you, before Harry pulls him out, the doors sliding shut behind him. ”You okay?” the taller asks, his brows scrunched and hand holding onto Louis’ forearm.

”Yeah, yeah,” he nods and hands the card to Harry, ”You dropped this.”

The younger accepts it and thanks him with a small, confused smile. ”I didn’t even notice,” he mumbles as they fall in step, making their way out of the tunnels.

”Me neither. The lady gave it to me,” Louis nods somewhere towards where they came from when they step on the street and take a left.

Harry hums and muses something about her being very kind, but the older’s mind is back in the car, the word _boyfriend_ swimming inside his head aimlessly. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, it won’t be the last either, but it still gives him the tingles. These are the blissful moments when he manages to forget that it’s basically impossible for them to ever become anything more than friends, the fact that they share a relative – sort of – always making it wrong and forbidden on a level.

”What’re you thinking about?” Harry’s low, soft voice reaches him through his thoughts.

”Nothing in particular,” he easily lies, tilting his head to look at his feet scuffing the ground. ”I’m a bit tired, ’s all.”

His nephew’s palm curls around his hips in a loose grip. ”That’s okay. We can watch _Friends_ or something, if you want. Eat Chinese.”

A smile tugs at Louis’ lips as he leans into Harry’s touch. ”Sure, pumpkin.”

They stumble their way to the flat and Louis lets Harry take care of the food order while he sets up the laptop and showers quickly, washing away the different perfumes from the party. He pulls on a t-shirt and a loose pair of shorts just as Harry appears at the doorway with two containers of steaming food in hand. ”Ready?”

Louis grabs his dish and they climb into the bed and under covers. Harry stars an episode from Netflix, their sides pressed together, elbows knocking together every once in a while, when they shovel more food into their mouths. Silent snickers and huffs of laughter fall from their lips at particularly fun parts, but mostly it’s quiet between them and Louis doesn’t really mind it. Putting aside all the weirdness Harry has brought with him, he’s been a very good companion. Louis hadn’t really admitted it to himself, how much he’s missed the younger and their time spent together.

As another episode starts, Harry collects their containers and takes them to the kitchen trash can and brings back two big glasses of water, both placed on Louis’ bedside table. The taller rids his shirt and jeans before crawling back next to Louis, his arm circling around the older’s waist. Louis scoots down on the mattress, jostling the device placed on his lap, before he leans his head against Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s humming the theme song of the show even though it’s not on at the moment, his soft voice causing Louis’ lids to droop. He snuggles closer when the younger’s hand starts stroking the sliver of skin revealed where the smaller man’s shirt has ridden up on his stomach. ”I don’t think people would believe it if I told them you’re actually this soft,” Harry’s words are pressed against the older’s hair, accompanied with warm air.

Louis snorts, but pushes his cheek against the other’s bare chest, sniffing. ”That’s because I’m not.”

”Oh, yeah?” Harry’s tone is amused and Louis can see him watching him with his twinkling eyes and dimpled smile when he gazes upwards, ”You look kinda soft to me.”

”It’s an illusion,” the older mumbles, his lips brushing the skin of Harry’s pec and his arm circling over his toned stomach, ”You’re seeing things.”

Harry keeps stroking Louis’ skin, but he doesn’t say anything. His chest’s rising with every breath, the even movement lulling Louis slowly to sleep. He never makes it there, not properly, because then Harry’s hand is travelling up his side, all the way to his ribs where his long fingers lightly tease the older’s skin. It’s a pleasant sensation, barely keeping Louis from tipping into slumber. His hand squeezes on Harry’s hip as he buries his face deeper in the younger’s skin and Harry splays his palm on Louis’ ribcage.

”Feels nice,” the older whispers, his eyes still shut and _Friends_ forgotten.

”What?” Harry asks with a low voice that stems all the way from his belly, ”This?” His fingers resume their circling on Louis’ skin, inching closer to the center of his chest.

”Mhmm.”

”Your skin is soft, too,” Harry drawls, his fingertips pressing onto the older’s skin more firmly now, tiny electric shots ricocheting from the touching point to all over Louis’ body.

He blinks his eyes open, the room around them dark save for the blue light of the laptop illuminating their upper bodies and faces. Louis drags his hand closer to Harry’s defined abs, his thumb sliding up the cleft between them and he can feel the taller’s insides tremble. It’s an odd feeling, but his finger continues its way up, caressing wide circles right under Harry’s pecs, the skin there warming under his thumb. Louis can feel Harry’s small breaths hitting the top of his head and he can feel the hand under his own shirt moving, touching him delicately.

The moment feels intimate, but the heaviness of it all doesn’t really register in Louis’ bordering-asleep brain. His eyes follow the way his index and middle fingers press softly in the dips above the man’s collarbones and then continue their way up to Harry’s neck, to his pulse point. Louis’ thumb sweeps over the taller’s bobbing Adam’s apple, his blue eyes finally landing on Harry’s green ones. The man seems dazed, his lids open only halfway and his lips agape, but his fingers are still moving and he doesn’t seem hesitant. The wheels in Louis’ head turn slowly and they creak on their way – he’s not completely fathoming what’s going on.

Harry’s left hand pushes the fringe out of Louis’ eyes and his lips slowly pull into a smile. ”You’re soft, alright,” he murmurs, lowering his head to nudge the older’s forehead with his nose.

A throaty chuckle escapes Louis and he has to swallow, his lashes fluttering. ”For you, only.”

_That_ is the moment Harry’s fingers actually still under the smaller’s shirt, his eyes rounding the tiniest bit as his tongue sweeps over his lower lip in a torturing, slow movement. Were Louis even an ounce more awake, he’d probably scramble off the bed, but his brain’s still misty and a little bit all over the place, so instead he snuggles his face closer to Harry’s chest and ever so lightly, grazes the skin with his teeth. The touch is so gentle Harry wouldn’t probably even have noticed it if his eyes weren’t glued to Louis’ face. Louis trails his hand down the younger’s chest and stomach to press on his hip with more pressure and then he lays his cheek against Harry.

About two seconds it takes, before the other comes back from where ever he was, his fingers dabbing on Louis’ skin three times or so. He buries his nose in the older’s feathery hair and hums contently. ”You’re the best, babe,” he whispers happily.

”Babe?” Louis laughs, his voice high-pitched but quiet. ”Since when have I been ’babe’?”

”Since now,” the younger’s tone is amused, his warm hand on Louis’ stomach. ”Don’t you like it? Should I call you sweetheart instead?”

Louis drapes his right leg over Harry’s longer ones and lets the laptop tip over, the other rescuing it from crashing to the floor. The older whines at the sudden movement and earns a laugh from Harry who places the laptop on the floor. They settle back against the pillows, both laying down properly this time, but Louis remains in the younger’s arms. ”Babe’s fine,” he supposes and tucks his face in Harry’s neck, taking in the smell of the man’s slightly sweaty skin.

They lie in the bed in silence, hands on each other’s bodies leaving behind warmth and pleasant tingles. Louis’ eyes begin to droop again and he can feel sleep tugging at the corners of his mind when Harry scoots down on the bed, the older’s head falling on the mattress. ”Oi,” Louis complains, his brows knitting together.

Harry chuckles from somewhere near him and then he’s foisting a pillow under the older’s head, pushing Louis to the center of the bed before laying close again, their faces inches apart. Louis’ eyes open when Harry’s fingers push the dangling bundle of hair out of the smaller’s face, the younger smiling with his lips pressed together. Harry’s tucked his right arm under the pillow they now share, but he pulls the duvet up to their chests with his left one, before letting it drop on Louis’ hip, his palm splaying there.

”We should sleep. You’re not coherent for much longer,” he mumbles with glimmering eyes.

With a heavy sigh Louis rolls away from Harry, sitting up hard work for his exhausted body. He grabs the shirt from between his shoulder blades and pulls it over his head with one move and throws it on the floor to his growing pile of laundry. The shorts follow suit, leaving him in his black boxer briefs only. He stretches his sides by twisting his torso to the right and then to the left, bones crackling around his spine. Harry’s waiting arms are open below him, a soft grin on his lips when Louis lays back in them, willingly being engulfed in a massive hug.

”You smell so good,” the younger giggles against Louis’ cheek.

”Mm, I know. It’s the lime soap you bought,” he mumbles, smirking, before turning onto his side while Harry’s body follows in his movements, his warm chest against Louis’ back in no time, ”Big spooning tonight?”

Harry’s massive palm pulls Louis closer by the tummy and a soft kiss lands in the nape of the older’s neck. ”Yeah, only for tonight,” he says, ”Wanna hold you.”

The older shuffles back a little, his arse molding against Harry’s groin and their chests moving in unison. ”Good grief, you’ve become even worse with the sweet talk.”

Harry’s nose moves along the back of his neck and Louis can feel the man smiling, his lips twitching. ”Not admitting anything.”

It gets quiet after that, the taller settling his face snugly in the hair at the back of Louis’ neck, his lips a constant pressure against the smaller’s skin. Louis doesn’t bother fighting the sleep when it crawls upon him, just lets Harry’s soft snores be the soundtrack to his falling until he doesn’t know anything else about the world than the warm hand around him and the small puffs of air against his neck.

–

Louis doesn’t know if he should’ve tried dodging Harry’s questions a bit more, maybe been a bit more firm with his plan. If not because this day was supposed to be relaxing instead of spent in the turmoil of sexual frustration, then because he knows Zayn had originally planned for them to catch up. They’d agreed on this Saturday a week ago at Waliyha’s birthday party and Louis had made a quick visit to Ed’s to pick up some weed for them earlier today. The green bag had peeked out of the pocket of Louis’ Adidas hoodie and Harry had been kneeling in front of him in five seconds.

”Please, take me with,” his big, glistening eyes were staring up at Louis, ”It’s been ages, Lou. We haven’t done this in, like, a year!”

There is a reason they haven’t done this in a year. If Harry’s touchy when he’s drunk and wild, then he’s bordering on being a leech when he’s high. He gets all soft and happy, tangling himself in whoever happens to be the closest. Louis usually ends up being the target, because he – like many others – gets slow in his movements and decision making when high. He also gets horny and cuddly. It’s weird and it’s been a problem before with Harry, only the younger’s never noticed before. Somehow Louis doesn’t feel like testing his luck tonight, though.

But Louis’ nephew can be convincing. It’s not that he promised to do all the dishes for the next week or that he promised to do all the grocery shopping for the rest of his stay, but the fact that he’d been crowding Louis against a wall all the while he was making these promises. Louis had caved rather easily in the end. He’d texted Zayn that he was bringing Harry as well and received a long line of question marks in response as well as the eye-rolling emoji. Louis told him to invite Liam as well and then he’d ordered Harry to ask Niall to join them. His only possible saviour now would be other people. People that could distract Harry from Louis and hopefully the other way around, too.

So, when they arrive at Zayn’s flat both Louis’ boss and Harry’s best friend are there already, nursing bottles of beer and playing Alias with altered rules since there’s only three of them. Louis raises a questioning brow at Zayn when he dumps the bag on the table, almost knocking down Niall’s token. ”Alias? Really?”

Zayn shrugs. ”Liam suggested it. We’ve never done it before while high so.”

”While that is true,” Louis nods, his hands clasped together, ”There’s also five of us. How d’you reckon this’ll work?”

Niall throws a crisp into his mouth from the bowl next to Liam and purses his lips. ”I dunno,” he shrugs, ”Haz could ask Will?”

Louis’ body tenses, his eyes flitting to behind him where the younger’s leaning against the door-frame, his eyes surprised and lips popped open. ”Uh,” he laughs out, his green eyes narrowing at Niall and then bouncing to Louis’ face, ”Yeah, no. Let’s not do that.”

”We can play with five,” Liam pipes in, his palms outstretched, ”We’ll just play two and three. It’s not like we’re serious about this.”

Zayn’s amused eyes land on Louis and Harry, his brows rising. ”Oh, right. It’s Liam’s first time.”

The oldest walks behind his boss and throws his arms around the man’s shoulders, hugging tight. ”Oh, sweet, sweet Liam. You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you?”

Zayn’s skilled hands rolled up a joint for them while Harry made sure they had cold beverages on hand as well as enough something salty and crispy to feed an army. Liam seemed impressed with their antics, but especially with how deftly the Pakistani man’s fingers worked on the joint. Louis seats himself between his boss and Niall, while Harry sits opposite of him on the round table.

They divide into two teams: Harry and Niall against the other three. It’s only because Zayn and Niall insist on Harry and Louis being in different teams, their knowledge of each other giving them an upper hand otherwise. It’s fun, very chill for a long time. They drink and pass the joint around, make fun of each other and their varying skills on explaining words.

“It’s like, uh, this long thing,” Harry’s hands flail around and Louis shakes his head while sucking on the joint, “it’s like, like in a zoo?”

Niall looks dazed and baffled at the same time, his light blue eyes glassy, but his mouth in a smile. “I dunno man,” he laughs, “a giraffe? Is that an animal? It is right?”

The other men burst into giggles, Liam leaning to Zayn and Louis stomping his foot on the ground. “Oh, you two are horrible at this,” he exclaims.

“‘S not a giraffe, Ni,” Harry rolls his eyes, the left side of his lips tugging, “‘s not an alive thing. Like living.”

“Oi, oi! Times up,” Louis announces, gripping the hourglass as Niall’s head lolls from one side to another.

“What was it?” Liam asks, still giggling.

“A fence. They’re long right?”

Another round of laughs sound in the room as Zayn’s hitting the table with his palm. Louis isn’t sure what’s so funny, but he laughs nonetheless.

The game goes on for another round but eventually they deem it pointless, because Niall keeps forgetting the word he’s supposed to be explaining. The group drag themselves on the couches, Liam falling in one corner with Zayn on his chest and Louis and Harry taking up the other one. Niall sprawls on the floor, singing an Eagles tune off key. Harry tucks himself to Louis’ side and pulls the older’s arm around his shoulders, fiddling with his fingers.

“You’ve got pretty fingers, Lou,” he coos, biting down on the index one, “So pretty.”

Louis doesn’t pull his hand away, but does seek out Zayn’s eyes. The other is contently lying on top of Louis’ boss, the two talking in whispered voices and giggling at each other. Zayn seems quite oblivious to everything going on around him. Harry’s warm and familiar against Louis, the usual high-arousal lifting its head in the older’s belly.

“I feel like I’m fifth wheeling,” Niall moans from the floor then, his arm over his eyes.

“You’re not!” Liam’s quick to assure. “You can get in here with us. C’mon lads, let’s make room for Niall.”

With much difficulty they manage to squeeze a happy Irish man between them on the couch, only to have him heavily lean against Harry, squishing Louis to the arm rest. “You okay, babe?” Harry asks, his voice amusingly concerned for something as minor as this.

“I’m fine,” the older huffs with a lopsided smile, readjusting his position so that he’s not as tightly packed between Harry and the couch.

“No,” the younger whines, drawing out the vowel, “You’re so far away now, baby.”

A laugh ripples out of Niall as he hugs Harry tightly, the taller man trying to escape and hold onto Louis. “Baby? He’s baby now?”

A hot flame licks Louis’ insides despite Niall’s tone being light and teasing. His eyes flicker to the two other men at the opposite end of the couch, both’s eyes now on them. “It’s nothing,” he mouths to Zayn, who blearily blinks at him and nods.

“Louis’ my babe, isn’t that right Lou?” Harry sounds offended and his grip on Louis tightens.

“Sure am, darlin’,” he pets the soft hair of his nephew’s.

Harry sticks his tongue out at his friend. “Mine,” he huffs then.

Another warm splash happens inside the older, but it’s slow this time. It spreads from the muscles in his fingers to the ones in his forearm and up from there, all the way to his neck and his ballooning chest. ”’M not,” Louis huffs, ”I don’t belong to no one.”

”You’re mine a little bit though,” Zayn drawls with a lopsided grin, his smooth cheek resting on Liam’s heaving pecs.

Everything’s a little funny and fuzzy at the moment, but not enough for Louis to miss the teasing tone and the sparkling eyes of his best friend. Harry’s hold around him tightens, then, his slightly glassy emeralds turning to Louis. ”Unfair, Lou,” the younger whines, jutting out his plump lower lip as he somehow manages to flutter his eyelashes in a way that looks attractive to Louis, ”I’ve known you for longer. And, really, I’ve had you like th–.”

The older clamps his palm messily against Harry’s lips, his eyes rounding in delay. Harry’s straight brows furrow as his tongue licks out of his mouth to touch the sensitive skin of Louis’ index finger, the skin suddenly burning to the older. His eyes eventually, after seconds probably, land on Liam – who’s completely distracted by the swirl in the perfect quiff of Zayn’s – and then on his best friend, who suddenly seems much more attentive than someone as high as him should be.

Louis’ mouth opens to say something, but it’s like The Atacama desert has been somehow traded for his tongue and all he manages to utter is a simple ’uh’. Harry’s still licking him, but now also mumbling some muffled words that he can’t focus on, his heartbeat steadily picking up speed. Then, Niall’s foot – sans a sock – lands on Zayn’s lap with a thud.

”D’you think my big toe is weird, man?” the Irish man scratches his brown hair and squints at his toes, ”This chick said it was, but personally I think it’s a lovely toe. A little misshapen, maybe, but like, it’s a toe.”

Zayn’s attention is ripped away from Louis and Harry, his glazed over amber eyes taking in the bare foot on his body. The horror on his face is amusing enough for Niall and Louis to burst into a laugh, the sound pulling both Liam and Harry out of their own little dreamlands. ”Take it off me!”

Niall’s writhing on the couch between Zayn and Harry, the latter chuckling, even though he’s not even sure what had happened, while simultaneously climbing higher up on Louis’ body. Liam’s pulling Zayn in on the other end, away from Niall’s exposed foot that eventually lands on the carpeted floor, the man’s laughter easing into giggles and snickers.

”I think it’s a perfectly fine toe, for what it’s worth,” Liam calls out from behind a dramatically whimpering Pakistani man ( _it touched me, Li, it really touched me_ ). Louis’ boss – the nice man he is – starts soothing Zayn with words that at first make complete sense, but then turn into just random things and places that mean absolutely nothing to any of them, Louis doesn’t think they do.

His eyes are tracking the hypnotizing movement of Liam’s hand stroking Zayn’s arm, his vision utterly bypassing Niall’s rambling mouth and the way he quite literally slides off the couch to crawl towards the TV stand. Louis only removes his gaze when he feels a pair of fingers tugging at the collar of his t-shirt and then there’s this whole new hypnotizing thing right in front of his eyes, mere inches away.

Harry’s staring at the older’s chest, his sloppy fingers tracking the words inked on the skin there with as much delicacy as one can muster in their current state. The taller’s lips are mouthing the syllables as if he’s forgotten how to properly read or even form words. ” _What_ ,” he whispers soon enough, victorious green specs and lips glistening with saliva meeting Louis’ blue eyes, ”It says ’what’.”

Louis thinks he nods, but there’s a loud pang of an invisible fist inside him, his lower stomach jumping at the sudden surge of adrenaline. _Fucking great_ , he thinks muddily, his right hand fisting around the material of Harry’s slightly sweaty shirt. Louis’ brain is already short-circuiting and it hasn’t even been that many hours yet. The younger man in his arms is looking up at him with blazing eyes and rosy cheeks and his hair’s a tousled mess – he’s so _beautiful_. Another pang hits him, his body actually shivering at the feeling.

”FIFA!” Niall’s loud voice calls out as the man falls on the couch again, chucking a controller at Liam.

”FIFA,” Louis mumbles dazedly, his eyes holding in place like it’s gravity itself preventing him from turning them away.

Harry lips curl around a smile, slowly but surely, his dimples popping out on each cheek. He leans his chin on the back of his hand, the same hand that’s splayed against Louis’ chest, and then he blows the older a silent kiss. Louis possibly wants to murder him.

”FIFA!” he then calls louder, jostling Harry off him with a smirk.

They play a game or two, Louis isn’t completely sure if they actually finished the first one or if Harry accidentally just cut it off in the middle. There’s a surprisingly big amount of enthusiasm that five men baked like a cake can throw into a football game, but it gets rowdy and sweaty in the room, each men taking turns on playing and yelling halfhearted insults at each other. Louis’ body doesn’t calm down, though, the energy only getting his blood pumping faster, his skin heating. He’s pressed against Niall’s lean frame, his musky scent throwing off whatever Louis ever thought about doing in the moment and then he’s half on Liam’s lap, the younger’s thick thighs vibrating under him with the laughter spilling out of the other. It only gets worse when Harry pulls him into a celebratory hug – even though he lost – and their patched shirts stick together and Louis’ nose presses in the junction of his nephew’s strong jaw and neck, the smell of Harry’s sweat and his muscled torso against Louis the best kind of tease there could ever be for his high brain.

”I need a smoke,” Zayn announces from somewhere on Louis’ left, his raspy voice breaking the train wreck of thoughts in the older’s head.

”I think I need air,” Liam gasps as he pushes Niall’s heavy body off him and easily pushes himself up from the floor and tapping the Irish man’s arse with his foot. ”You don’t exactly smell like rose petals, mate.”

Niall gasps loudly, his palm splaying on his chest as his eyes track the way Liam follows Zayn towards the balcony door. ”I am deeply offended, Payno. I’ll not stand slander like this, nuh uh,” his finger wiggles in the air as the two other men slip into the slowly darkening night.

Louis finally manages to put some distance between him and Harry, his slightly trembling fingers pushing his fringe out of his eyes. The younger’s chest is still heaving from all the jumping around, his cheeks coloured from the high temperature and his eyes glassy from the weed. He looks edible, in other words. ”I think I’ll, uh..” Louis points somewhere behind him, his words momentarily lost on his when the tip of Harry’s pink tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick at the seam of his lips, ”Sleep. Yeah.”

The man on the floor raises his head. ”Already? We’re just starting out here,” he looks even more offended by Louis’ words than he had looked when Liam had insulted him just a moment ago, as if this is a personal matter.

”I’m beat,” Louis simply says, his eyes finally finding their way to some other human being’s face that isn’t his nephew.

”You’re old, ’s what you are,” Niall snarls, but his eyes aren’t angry, ”Weak, Tommo. You’re _weak_.”

Some spit lands on the carpet as the man spews the words out, Zayn walking in just in time to witness the act of disrespect. ”What the hell has my carpet ever done to you, Horan?”

It turns into a wrestling match between the two - Liam leaning on the wall next to the balcony door with heart-eyes and Harry rooting for his Irish best friend – before Louis slips out of the room to take a leak (or rather to first splash cold water on himself to get his erection down and _then_ take a leak) and after, ducking into Zayn’s bedroom. The room’s dark save for the strip of light that comes in from the hallway and that disappears, too, when Louis pushes the door closed behind him, muting the sound of the blaring music that someone had put on. He stumbles over some canvases that he hopes are still blank and stubs his toe on the leg of the bedside table. ”Fuck,” he hisses, but a small laugh tumbles out of him anyway.

Giggling to himself, Louis strips away his clothes, only leaving on the black Calvin Klein boxer briefs Zayn had bought him for his last birthday under the guise of wanting Louis to dress better, but in reality Louis thinks it’s because he had bought a pair a size too big on him and didn’t know what else to do with the item of clothing. His body has cooled down quite a bit, but even with a fuzzy brain he can remember how sweaty he tends to get when the drugs gradually leave his body, so instead of pulling on the duvet, he slumps on top of it.

A shriek – not a very manly one – leaves his mouth as soon as his stomach hits the mattress, however, because he realizes he’s not alone. He nearly falls off the bed when he pulls the left side of his body to himself, away from the warm skin and flesh occupying the other side of the king-size.

”Please stop yelling,” a gruff, deep voice says as a hand reaches out for Louis.

”Harry for Christ’s sake,” the older curses, slapping the fumbling hand away from him, ”You can’t fucking scare me like that. D’you even realize how stoned I am? You could’ve given me a heart attack, you twat.”

The hand finally curls around Louis’ wrist and pulls him closer on the bed, until Louis can hear Harry breathing and his skin scuffling against the duvet. ”’M sorry, I didn’t mean to,” the younger’s voice is sleepy and soft, ”Just wanted to cuddle a bit.”

Now that Louis’ eyes have gotten used to the darkness, he can see that there’s no shirt covering the other man’s chest, no jeans on his endless legs. The older eyes screw shut as he sighs, somehow trying to grab the loose ends of his thoughts. He can feel the arousal creeping back in, can feel the heat at the bottom of his spine, but he’s not sober enough to get it all together, to understand what it actually means to lie down now and let Harry close.

”Zayn’s gonna be so mad in the morning,” he mumbles as he gives in and lies down, Harry’s left arm tucked between the curve of his neck and the soft pillow, but enough space between them for Louis not to feel the other’s body heat.

”’Cause we’re borrowing his bed?” Harry giggles, his lids closing and then opening slowly again, ”He won’t. ’M sure he’s ecstatic to share the tiny couch with Liam.”

Louis gasps, the pointer finger of his left hand pushing on Harry’s pecs. ”You see it, too?”

”That they’re fucking?” Harry’s tone is much too innocent for the words, but somehow it makes Louis’ heart rate spike, ”Who doesn’t?”

The older shakes his head, the darkness around them slowly making him feel heavier, sleepier. ”I wasn’t sure. Like, it’s Liam. He’s got a fiancé, Sophia,” he shakes his head again, their eyes locked, ”He wouldn’t cheat.”

Harry attempts a shrug, but his shoulder doesn’t quite make it there, the movement probably too much effort for his body. ”People can surprise, y’know,” his eyes open fully, something eerily familiar flickering between the different shades of green Louis’ knows to be there in his eyes, even though he can’t make them out in the dark room.

He swallows, a dry chuckle wheezing its way out of him. ”Yeah. I suppose.”

It’s not like Louis is the best at reading the atmosphere under normal circumstances, but he likes to think he’s not complete shit at it either. But when he’s high – well, when anyone’s high, really, it tends to get a tad more difficult. His brain’s still not co-operating and his body is more traitorous than ever before so it feels like Louis’ fighting a lost battle by now. The thoughts about being tired of dancing around his feelings and trying not to get burned by them or by Harry circle in his head, but none of them really make any sense at the moment. They’re nonsense just the same as any other random thought popping up in his head, like whether the rain that comes down the sky every other day is the same water that circulated in the atmosphere when dinosaurs still existed – all nonsense.

Harry’s smiling at him, his white teeth peeking out from between his slightly open lips. ”You’re extra warm tonight,” he drawls, the hand under Louis’ neck pulling the older closer. ”So warm.”

”Nonsense,” the older mutters, licking his lips but not fighting against the hand landing on his hip, fingers gently swiping over the skin.

Harry hums, his eyelids falling shut for a beat. Louis’ eyes dart over his face, the cheeks rounded with his smile, his lashes long and dark and his brows straight, but a tad ascending. When the younger peels his eyes open again, his gaze lands on the spot where his fingers are now gently tapping Louis’ right wrist, where the quotation marks are.

”I can’t change,” Harry says with a low, sweet voice, filling in the blank between said quotes, the words that are now inked on his own wrist.

Louis’ gaze lands on the same spot, the other’s thumb stroking the marks with slight pressure. It was their second complimentary tattoo, something to remind them both that they got through the coming out that wasn’t easy for either one of them. No one really knows about this tattoo, though, it’s something that’s between just the two of them. Louis can’t find the words, again his brain coming out shorthanded with the wit or really with anything, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

”Will said this thing the other day,” the taller speaks quietly, his eyes now more focused as they pull in Louis’ own ones, ”About, like, being jealous. About the tattoos. Or you, I don’t know,” he laughs out just as quietly, ”I can’t really remember at the moment.”

A lazy grin spreads on Louis’ lips and even though he can’t right now exactly remember why, his chest feels warm from the inside rather than outside. He feels happy and despite it not making sense, he still keeps grinning and basking in the feeling. ”So, what d’you think of that, curly?”

Mirth flashes in Harry’s eyes as he leans a tad closer, their noses nearly bumping. ”Absolutely nothing. Should I?”

There’s a certain clearness in Louis’ mind with the words that fall out of his mind, like he’d been thinking about them before, too, but hadn’t spoken them out loud despite wanting to. ”No,” he licks his lips, the right corner pulling up still, ”What’s between us, is between us, yeah? It’s none of anyone’s business the fuck we are.”

Harry’s hand moves from his wrist and comes back to his hip, squeezing. ”No one’s.”

Louis’ fingertips gently walk over Harry’s moth tattoo on his upper belly and slide along the curve of his neck. The younger moves his hand to Louis’ lower back and pinches there in a way that should be painful, but only sends shivers down Louis’ spine. The room suddenly feels charged with something new, something Louis can’t or doesn’t really want to pinpoint. Every touch Harry lays on him leaves his skin burning and aching and every spot his own fingers reach on the taller’s skin feels electric and smooth and _Harry_.

Their foreheads lean against each other as Harry’s fingers drag down Louis’ cheek lightly, his green eyes following the motion with wonder and his plump lips agape. Louis’ own palm is splayed against the younger’s stomach, receiving every little shudder and shiver that goes through Harry’s body. The older doesn’t think he’s been this aroused in years, but oddly enough it’s not the feeling that tops everything else.

Having Harry this close, having the sweet but sharp smell of the man’s sweat invade his nostrils – it feels private in a way. Every little touch, every light stroke of a finger or caress of a breath against his skin makes him think his body is feeling overstimulated only by Harry, makes him think this is something personal for just the two of them. _Just them_. Their eyes lock and hold onto that gaze while they share touches that probably shouldn’t be shared, but that aren’t necessarily sexual.

If he weren’t as high as he is, Louis thinks he might go crazy from the way his cock is straining against the material of his boxers. The weed distracts him, however, and his senses are overflowing with other things. Even with all these weird, new sensations running through his body, he eventually feels sleep wrapping over him and he goes easily, gladly, with Harry’s hand on him and his own buried in the younger’s thick hair.

–

There’s pressure on either side of Louis. He can feel a tough, sweaty chest pressed against his back, which he assumes must be Harry’s. But there’s an equally sweaty back pressed against his front and he can feel light hair tickling his fingers where they lay over the person’s chest. Someone’s snoring in a way that isn’t familiar to Louis and that is what gets him to peel his heavy lids open.

His face is buried in a muss of brown hair, his nose pressed to a neck covered in milky skin. For two seconds Louis thinks he’s not remembering something right, but then there’s a snicker from the doorway and a shutter of a flash and he picks his head up to find his amused best friend with a cup of tea and an iPhone in each hand. ”Morning, spooner.”

Confusion fogs Louis’ brain and his expression as he peeks behind him. Harry’s peacefully sleeping and drooling all over the pillow, just like the older thought he would be, but when he turns to see who’s pressed against his own front, he has to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t remember Niall climbing in the bed, but then again he doesn’t remember agreeing to spooning with two men either. ”Great.”

Zayn actually laughs at him, before lifting the tea cup a little. ”Want breakfast?”

Louis has to weasel his way out of the bed, but he manages to do so without waking either of the other occupants in it. He pulls on the t-shirt he wore yesterday even though the fabric smells heavily of marijuana and then digs a pair of sweats out of Zayn’s drawer. As he pulls the door closed to the bedroom and follows in Zayn’s wake to the kitchen, he can see Liam sitting on the couch, fully dressed, with a banana in one hand and his phone in the other.

”Morning,” the older croaks and waves at Liam when he turns around.

”Oh, hi,” the man’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes in Louis’ dishelved state. ”Rough night?”

Liam doesn’t wiggle his eyebrows, but really, he doesn’t have to for Louis to get the meaning behind the words. He narrows his eyes and shuffles to the kitchen without another word. ”Tea, please,” he says to Zayn.

The man prepares him a Yorkshire tea and a couple toasts, while Louis downs a glass of cold water and two Advils. He doesn’t feel nearly as hungover and heavy as he usually feels after weed-nights, but he supposes it’s not something he should be complaining about. ”Thanks,” he says as Zayn places the cup and the toasts before him and takes a seat on the opposite side of the table.

Louis is granted a full minute of peace and quiet, before his mate’s speaking. ”You alright?”

It’s a simple question. Anyone could ask that from someone who’s drank and smoked up the night before, anyone could certainly ask that from someone who has eyes as red as Louis does and who looks like he’s regretting every choice he’s made in the last twelve hours or so. But Zayn’s Louis’ best mate, is the thing. There is no such thing as a simple question, not after a night like that.

His brown eyes are boring into Louis’ soul like usually, but there’s that slight tweak in there, too. The tweak that says _I know something but I’m not telling you unless you come clean_ and Louis hates it. He’s always hated it, but today he hates it even more. ”I’m not doing this today, Z,” he grumbles against his better judgement.

The other man leans his elbows on the table and supports his chin on his palm. ”Is that so?” he hums, ”’Coz I can tell you what I saw, if you want it that way.”

Louis’ eyes flicker to Zayn’s and then back to his tea cup. So, Zayn knows. ”Did you walk in the room then?” the older asks, his voice quiet enough for Liam not to overhear.

Zayn nods. ”That’s why I let Niall in,” he says, his eyes clear and attentive, ”You were only spooning and sleeping, but I just figured better safe than sorry.”

Oh.

So, Zayn doesn’t know. ”Right, yeah,” Louis nods, pushing the fringe out of his eyes, ”Thanks for that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Wasn’t probably.”

The man on the other side of the table sighs, finally tearing his eyes away from Louis. ”Yeah. Maybe next time don’t bring ’im around when you’re getting high. You could’ve ended up in knee deep shit, Louis.”

”I’m aware,” he bites down on his lower lip as images of the previous night flash through his mind.

He can still feel Harry’s touches all over himself and it’s odd, because it’s not like they haven’t been touching each other like that before, because that seems to be all they do lately. But something about last night felt different. Not just the weed, but something about the way Harry had been or how his eyes had looked at Louis, how his fingers had touched him lighter than usual. Something, but Louis doesn’t know what. All he can think of is _private_ , because that’s what he remembers thinking last night.

”G’morning,” Harry’s slow rumble snaps the two men’s heads towards the kitchen doorway, where the tall man’s stepping in to the room.

He’s wearing his clothes even though he’s just woken up, which is new to Louis, but otherwise he looks like he would any other morning. His hair’s a mess and his eyes are barely open, but he’s smiling as he slides on the chair next to Louis’.

”Morning,” Zayn and Louis answer in somewhat unison, both offering the younger a smile.

The owner of the flat gets up to make Harry breakfast as well, because that’s how he gets when he has lots of people over, for some reason. Any other time Louis wakes up at Zayn’s, when there’s no one else there than the two of them, he would never make food for the older. As the raven haired man fixes the toasts, Harry rests his arm over the back of Louis’ chair and leans closer to the older, sniffing the t-shirt.

”You smell like weed,” he chuckles, low and happy.

Louis rolls his eyes, but the taller’s smile catches on him. ”You do, too.”

Harry’s palm lands on the older’s left shoulder and squeezes there, before he leans even closer to tuck his face into Louis’ neck, halting the smaller man’s movements. ”Good morning, babe,” he whispers against Louis’ skin.

Only a fraction of a second it takes for Louis to move again, his sharp teeth biting a piece of toast into his mouth. ”You said that already. Are you still high, Harold?”

The younger laughs out, the warm air escaping his lips tickling Louis. ”No. I just wanted to say it to you, especially. Just you.”

Louis tries not to let the words feel heavy, the heaven knows he tries. But there’s that nagging voice at the back of his head again, telling him to overthink it, to feel special under Harry’s affection, even though he’s learned not to years ago already. He smothers even the slightest noise in his mind by flipping his fringe out of his eyes and pushing Harry’s face away from his neck. ”Stop drooling on my neck.”

Zayn slides Harry’s plate to the younger and plants a cup of tea in front of him. His amber eyes are on Louis, his brows raised. ”Ooh, food,” Harry sings, ”Thank you, Zayn.”

”You’re welcome,” the Pakistani man says, his smile warm when aimed at Harry who greedily attacks his toasts and hot beverage.

Louis pointedly avoids looking at Zayn all morning, even when Niall and Liam eventually join them into the kitchen to go over what had gone down in the living room the previous night. Harry’s hand keeps massaging Louis’ thigh under the table as they laugh at Niall’s candid way of telling the story how Liam’s shirt had got drenched and then blow dried. Somewhere between avoiding looking his best mate into eyes, trying not to get aroused by his nephew’s hand on his leg and listening to his Irish friend’s loud chatter, Louis decides he needs to get laid, ASAP.

–

Sweat dribbles down the line of Louis’ neck as he leans his head back against the grey-painted wall. He can feel his muscles relax, muscles that have been so wound up for weeks now, the stress from work and frustration in himself and in his situation, having built up inside him like the pressure in a kettle. A small, barely audible moan falls from his lips and his head drops forward to take in the heavenly sight of his current favourite person in the world. The sunlight streaming in from the window glimmers on Zack’s angular face, the man’s black hair sparkly and rough under Louis’ fingertips.

”It’s good to see you unwind,” the man says with a throaty voice, a slurp accompanying his words as he pulls away from Louis’ cock to lick at his slit, ”You were so tense when I got here.”

Louis bites down on his lip and bucks forward, nudging the older man’s tongue with his tip. ”Open up now,” he coaxes, sliding back into the hotness of his friend’s mouth, ”I’ve been,” Louis’ voice pitches higher as Zack’s cheeks hollow around him, ”Stressed. Frustrated.”

The man hums, sending shivers down the younger’s spine as his hand pulls on the black locks, aiding the movement of the older’s head. It’s been such a long time since Louis last had someone touch him like this and he might’ve gone a bit cave man on Zack earlier when he came over, basically shoving him to the bedroom and ripping his shirt off and devouring his mouth and chest on Louis’ still unmade bed. Luckily his friend was used to that, this is how their arrangement works.

Zack pulls of his length with deliberate slowness, his brown eyes locking with Louis’ as heat surges through the younger. ”You do have some sinful lips on you,” he grunts as his cock falls away from the wet lips.

The older smirks, his eyebrows wiggling. ”That is the main reason you picked me to be your booty call over my friend, isn’t it?”

Louis shrugs as his fingers card through Zack’s short hair, tugging when they reach the nape of his neck. ”It is,” Zack’s lips open around the younger again, his tongue licking at the underside of Louis’ cock, ”You were _very_ convincing.”

Zack’s hands are braced on Louis’ hips as he snuffles tiny puffs of air through his nose and more of Louis disappears in his mouth with every thrust of the younger’s hips and every suck of the older’s mouth. The hot noises of Zack’s saliva slicking him up and the feeling of his tip repeatedly hitting the back of the man’s throat pull a loud groan out of Louis. With each thrust his pace picks up and Zack’s moans get louder, his hands squeezing on the younger with pressure that’s bound to leave bruises.

Louis lets the hue take over his brain as he can feel his climax nearing, his right hand fisting in the older’s hair and his left one splayed on the cool wall to keep him grounded. The tight, heady feeling in his lower stomach is demanding and strong, so much that he never hears the door to his room opening, never realizes how loud his noises are. Until the voice, that is.

”Oh, _shit!_ Fuck, shit, I’m sorry,” Harry rambles, his hand covering his eyes and Louis’ eyes snap open, Zack’s lips pulling off him with a loud pop, ”Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Heat, a different kind of heat, rushes to Louis’ cheeks as Harry keeps apologizing while backing away from the doorway, his feet stumbling on each other. Zack’s already climbing up from the floor and organizing his hair, his brown eyes mildly amused as he follows the way Louis’ nephew finally manages to pull the door shut with a final ’sorry’. As their eyes meet, Zack chuckles.

”You have a roommate. I didn’t even know.”

The much too familiar frustration starts to build up inside Louis’ chest again, his jaw clenching and eyebrow twitching. ”I didn’t use to,” he grumbles and pulls up his boxers and loose jogger type shorts, ”And believe me when I say this – I wish I didn’t now either.”

Zack laughs at that, not a single sign of embarrassment or sexual frustration in sight – save for the bulge in his jeans. He offers Louis an apologetic smile while pulling his white t-shirt over his head. ”I’m sorry, but I don’t think the mood is right for a quickie anymore,” his eyes flit to the door, where on the other side they can hear Harry rummaging through the kitchen, ”I’d feel too aware of his presence.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but picks up his own shirt from the floor as well, despite his sweaty back and arms. ”I get it. He looks very innocent, doesn’t he.”

The older smirks, pulling Louis in for a quick kiss on the lips. ”He looks hot,” the man’s brows rise, ”I can understand your frustration.”

Louis doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. He’s feeling the annoyance inside him double-fold from what it had been before he’d invited Zack over and so, he would say the meeting was rather counterproductive and hence, his feelings allowed. He follows the older out of the room and guides him to the front door with his hand on the small of his back, all the while Harry stares at them from the kitchen table, his green eyes curious and his cheeks pink. Louis flips him off without looking his way.

”Thanks for coming over,” he says to Zack when the man pulls on his shoes and grabs his leather jacket from the rack, ”Although we didn’t really get to the good part.”

The older’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, his hand resting on Louis’ hip as he pulls him closer. Their lips mold together easily, and any other day Louis truly wouldn’t mind a snog, but it just happens to be so his mind and body are both extremely wired at the moment and he doesn’t need to deal with any more teasing. He pushes the other man away gently, his palm on his chest. ”Don’t tease.”

”Aight,” Zack nods, his eyes twinkling, ”See you next time?” His eyes flick to Harry and the laughter in them increases, before he looks back to Louis, ”Perhaps at my place.”

Louis huffs, but nods nonetheless. They share a hug for goodbye and then what was supposed to be his redemption, slips out of the door and disappears, taking away Louis’ chance at relaxing. He can already feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing, his head rolling to the side and then back and to the other side. Louis actually wants to cry a little, the feeling in his lower stomach still heavy and very much there.

Annoyance peeks inside him as he turns around and takes determined steps towards the kitchen. Harry’s already looking at him, the expression on his pretty face resembling that of a deer caught in the headlights of a hunter’s car. Louis’ palms slam on the table, Harry flinching and leaning back in his chair.

”How exactly are you home?” Louis’ voice is strained, but not loud as his sapphire blue eyes stare the younger man down.

Harry’s hands are tightly clasped together on the table, his plate of orange and banana slices slightly pushed aside. He opens his mouth to answer, but Louis raises his right forefinger to shush him, closing his eyes to rein in the bubbling feelings of anger and arousal, the two somehow blending in together and making Louis boil.

”No, no,” he hushes, the lids of his eyes opening again and his lips a thin line, ”What happened to the lunch date with Will? What happened to ’I won’t be home until four, at least’?” Louis looks at his wrist as if there was a clock there, nodding and pursing his lips. ”Funny, it says it’s not _fucking_ four o’clock, Harry.”

A small, really just tiny, whimper falls from Harry, his eyes round and lips agape. ”I’m sorry,” he squeaks, his fingers wringing together, but his eyes staying on Louis’ face as if he’s scared to look away, ”He cancelled, I swear I didn’t know you had company.”

The older pinches the bridge of his nose, an agitated sigh escaping him. As if matters weren’t bad enough as they are, now his cock is actually twitching at the way Harry looks, the way he speaks and fucking smells. Louis has to force himself to stand up straight and remain in control of his own body. He crosses his arms over his chest to keep them in place. ”Why were you barging into me room? Have I not taught you how to bloody knock?”

”You have!” Harry finally breaks his posture and leans closer, his palms splaying on the table, ”I just, I was so mad at Will. I was already in the city when he told me he just wasn’t feeling up to it and then I had to take the next train back. I wanted to vent, to blow off some steam..,” Harry’s eyes are pleading, his tongue poking out to wet his lips.

”Well, you weren’t the only one,” Louis snaps, his right hand tugging at the ends of his hair in a way that leaves his scalp tingling, ”So, thanks for that.”

It’s silent for a beat, the younger’s eyes wavering and flicking to where Louis’ still straining against his loose shorts. A flash of heat passes through the older, but he knows danger when he sees it. Harry doesn’t even open his mouth and Louis is already turning on his heels and taking relatively quick strides towards his bedroom, towards the shower and somewhere private – somewhere away from Harry.

It isn’t the first time Louis’ short legs have let him down when it comes to escaping situations, however, and Harry’s long fingers grip around his wrist before he’s even properly out of the kitchen. Louis sucks in a breath of air, refusing to turn around. Harry rounds him with slow, hesitant steps, still firmly holding onto the older and when their eyes meet, Louis actually considers faking fainting.

The green in Harry’s eyes is brighter, his brows knitted together and his canine tooth peeking out to bite down on his plump lower lip. Louis is almost hundred percent sure the younger can feel his rapid heartbeat on the inside of his wrist, the blood in his veins pumping with such speed he can feel it on his neck and abdomen. He eyes the taller man warily, shaking his head in a tiny movement already before Harry’s speaking.

”Let me,” Harry’s eyes dart between Louis’ blue ones, ”Let me make it up to you, then.”

”Oh, dear God,” the words leave Louis in a quick exhale, his self-preservation instinct kicking in as his feet try to take steps back, only for Harry to follow. ”Stop it,” the older snaps, pushing his hand against Harry’s chest, right where his heartbeats pound under the muscles.

The younger licks his lips, the crease in his brows easing out as he tugs at Louis’ wrist gently. ”I’m serious, Lou. Let me. I ruined it for you, it’s only fair.”

”You’re not,” Louis shakes his head, a breathy chuckle and then another leaving him, ”You’re not serious, Harry, because you’re clearly not thinking straight.”

Harry lifts his brows and the left corner of his lips is tugging up. Louis can’t understand what is funny about this, not for the death of him, but Harry starts smirking either way. ”No, I’m not. There is very little _straight_ about my thoughts, Louis.”

”Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis groans, shoving the taller’s chest with a little force and Harry circles his fingers around his left wrist as well, ”Only you would make a joke like that in a moment like this, I swear to God.”

The cheeky man shrugs, his lips still smiling in a more subtle way. ”Doesn’t make my words any less true, though,” he mutters, his lashes fluttering when he gazes downwards, his eyes sweeping over Louis’ bulge.

It’s really unfair how pretty Harry is, Louis thinks, as his body shivers under the appreciative glance. He knows he’s good-looking himself and doesn’t need validation from anyone, but Harry’s opinion will always matter to him, even when it most decidedly should not, if only for the sake of their relationship staying as one that is allowed and actually healthy. ” _Stop_ looking at me like that,” the older hisses, attempting to pull his arms away from Harry’s grip.

The taller holds on firmly, his eyes hungry when they look into Louis’ pools of frustration and arousal. ”Stop making me feel like you don’t want me,” he counters, his tone lighter than is appropriate for words like those, ”It makes me think I’m not good enough.”

Louis’ lids shutter, his lips falling open as his face scrunches with confusion. ”You know you are,” his voice is low and quiet, ”More than.”

Another smile spreads on the younger’s lips and he pulls Louis closer, using the moment of weakness to his advantage. ”Then let me,” he whispers against the smaller’s cheek, moist lips on Louis’ skin.

This would have to be one of those moments that Louis knows he’ll be looking back to in a very short amount of time and he’ll think he doesn’t know what came over him. He doesn’t know if it’s just Harry and Louis’ incapability of saying no to him in things that seem to matter. He doesn’t know if it’s simply because he feels so horny and aroused he hasn’t had it so bad in months, possibly years. Or maybe it’s just the way Harry’s asking to please him, to please _Louis_ , the man who lives off of people giving him attention and their time. Louis is just a man, after all.

”Stop asking for things you don’t want,” he tries once more, but this time his tone gives away how close he is to giving in and he knows Harry hears it, too.

The younger releases his hold on Louis’ hands and takes a hold of his shirt instead, slowly pushing him towards the couch until the backs of Louis’ knees hit the furniture. Harry pushes him to sit on it and finally he’s far enough for Louis to look him into eyes. The green is vibrant and alive and his expression is willing, excited even. ”You don’t know what I want,” Harry finally answers as he kneels on the floor and slips his fingers inside the waistband of both, Louis’ shorts and briefs, pulling the material down.

So, they’re playing. Louis’ jaw sets and his eyes steel as he lifts his arse of the couch, allowing Harry to pull his pants down to his ankles. The younger’s large palms land on his upper thighs and drag down from there, towards the inner thighs and then pushing back up again. Harry’s eyes are glued to where Louis’ hard cock is laying on his stomach, still swelling up.

An excited jolt travels through the older as he looks at his nephew’s dark eyes and the way he wets his lips, the way he lifts up enough to fit himself between Louis’ spread legs and nudge the smaller man’s stomach with his nose. Louis can feel Harry smelling him, the sound of it audible and thrilling. For a second there, Louis allows himself to think back to the previous times he’s crossed the line – _they’ve_ crossed the line. This wasn’t supposed to ever happen again, but now that it is, Louis can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it, not with the way his stomach’s jumping and his skin’s vibrating with anticipation. The way Harry’s nuzzling the hair on his groin, his lips pulling into a pleased smile and his eyes slowly blinking open when his fingers finally touch the tip of Louis’ erection.

”You’re thicker now,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, probably, his voice quiet and distracted as he wraps his hand around Louis’ length, his thumb spreading the precome on it.

Louis has to shift in his seat and swallow down some of the excitement, as Harry’s eyes flicker to him. He looks smug, almost, when he licks a fat stripe on Louis’ cock, starting from the very base of it and traveling up all the way to his own fingers. Unlike with Zack, he doesn’t feel the instant relaxation wash over him. He doesn’t feel his muscles ease up or his jaw going pliant, but instead he thinks he might be more tense than he was just a moment ago. He bucks his hips up in a slightly demanding manner, raising his brows at Harry when their eyes meet.

”Don’t tease me, love,” he lifts his chin and twines his fingers into Harry’s soft, brown hair, ”I’m really not in the mood after the stunt you pulled.”

Harry’s lips fall open at the words, his lids fluttering and gaze going hazy. Something warm and terribly like the feeling of power stirs inside Louis as he watches a new, more amenable expression take over his nephew’s face. Harry doesn’t say another word, just lifts his torso up enough to sink his wet mouth down Louis’ cock, taking him in with one go. A filthy moan falls from between Louis’ lips and his eyes try to fall shut, but he forces them open, the sight of Harry bobbing his head up and down much too appealing to lose.

The younger holds onto Louis’ thighs, his fingers pressing on them with force. He lowers his head faster than he lifts it up, his tongue swirling around Louis’ length. A stray strand of hair is falling to his eyes and Louis pushes it away to take in the hollowed cheeks and obscene lips, dark, lusty eyes staring up at him as he moans and sends hot shivers of pleasure through Louis’ body. The slurping sounds and Harry’s eager, steadily growing pace makes Louis’ hips buck up to meet his mouth, small whines echoing in the room as the younger’s throat takes in more of Louis.

A litany of curses escapes the older’s lips when Harry sneaks his hand under Louis’ balls to play with them, gently fondling them as his cheek balloons out from the way Louis pushes his cock against it. Just as Louis can feel the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, Harry pulls off him, a string of saliva only connecting the hardened, angry red cock of the older’s and the taller man’s mouth. Harry’s eyes are half-lidded and hued over, his tongue licking at the wetness of his lips, some of Louis’ white precome disappearing into his mouth.

”D’you want me to swallow?” he husks, his hands now pushing up the hem of Louis’ shirt to rake his nails down the skin on the older’s abdomen, ”Or d’you wanna paint my face? I’ll do anything you want.”

An involuntary, low moan scratches its way out of Louis’ throat as he lets his head fall against the backrest of the couch. Harry’s downright sinful, a real wet dream come true and Louis _really_ didn’t need to know this. He thinks he might be able to come just from listening to Harry speak with his rough voice and dirty words, but he tugs at the younger’s hair nonetheless and grunts a response. ”Wanna see it on your face.”

It’s scary to think about the reasoning behind his choice, so he doesn’t voice it out. He doesn’t want Harry to know that he needs to see his mark on the younger, wants Harry to have to wash away the come and think of how Louis did it to him, how he did that to Louis.

Harry nods, eager, and starts pumping Louis’ slick cock with his right hand, his lips rounding over the head and sucking, his tongue teasing the slit. Louis thrusts up, but doesn’t push much further in, the pestering feeling of nearly having it, but not quite, making his whole body burn. Harry’s eyes lock with his, his lashes fluttering as his mouth meets with his hand in a steady, fast pace. The younger hums around him, licks at him and hollows his cheeks and all of the sensory overload starts to finally get too much for Louis. He tangles both his hands in Harry’s short hair and tugs, pushing up two or three times before gasping out. ”Oh, Jesus, I’m gonna, ugh, I’m gonna come, H.”

Harry pulls off him swiftly, but his hand keeps working, his hold strong as he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. Louis’ hands fall away from Harry’s hair to hold onto the edge of the couch, his hips bucking up with a guttural moan. He can hear the younger’s pleased whine over the ringing in his ears, as the white stripes of come spurt on Harry’s awaiting tongue and his rosy cheeks and nose, the tip of his twitching cock lying on Harry’s wet lower lip.

They’re both breathless and sweaty, Louis utterly spent from the orgasm, but his body still finds the energy to feel an excited jolt when Harry pulls away a few inches to swipe his thumb over his cheekbone, the come sticking to his finger, and then sucks the digit into his mouth, his dark, green eyes on Louis’. He hums and licks his lips. ”Salty and good.”

Finally Louis’ eyes screw shut and a ragged breath escapes his lungs as he leans back against the couch. ”Fuck, you’re–.”

He can feel Harry sitting next to him on the couch, their thighs brushing together and he peels his eyes open. ”I’m what?” Harry’s voice is wrecked, but amused all the same.

”You’re insane,” Louis mutters, lolling his head to the left to look at his nephew, ” _Very_ good with your mouth and hands, but insane.”

”Thanks,” Harry laughs, shifting his bottom and releasing a heavy breath, while still smiling.

The older’s eyes land on the bulge in Harry’s shorts, his eyes rounding as he realizes Harry’s still hard – uncomfortably so. ”Christ,” he meets the younger’s gaze, ”Uh,” he hesitates, licking at his lips before pulling up straight and inching his pants back on, ”Need help with that?”

Laughter’s evident in Harry’s eyes as he shakes his head, palming himself through his shorts. ”You don’t have to. This was me making something up to you.”

Louis’s eyes are firmly on the taller man’s palm, his hands itching to touch, but he refrains himself, his thoughts wild again. Harry’s dating. Sure, the relationship isn’t exactly top notch, but it’s a relationship all the same. And Harry’s not the type to cheat either, which certainly he has done now and Louis already dreads the moment the realisation hits the younger. He probably shouldn’t make it any worse by offering for a second time, if not only for that reason, then because they’re not supposed to be doing any of this – regardless of the fact that Harry’s spoken for. His eyes flit to Harry’s, lust still sparkling in them.

”But I want to?”

Harry’s lips pop open and his hand squeezes harder on himself. ”You.. want to?”

Louis nods, pushing the fringe out of his eyes. ”I can suck you off and y’know, swallow. Not make a mess out of it. I just,” he licks his lips pushing Harry to lie down by his shoulder as the younger – unconsciously or not – bends his leg on the couch, only to straighten it between Louis’ body and the backrest of the couch, so that the older’s between his legs, already tugging down Harry’s pants enough to let his hard cock spring free. ”I just wanna suck you off, aight?”

Harry mutely nods, his hands stretching above his head to hold onto the armrest. His shirt rides up with the movement, revealing his nicely formed abs and the golden skin covering them. There’s only so much Louis can think about before he’s going to be hard again, so he leans down, wrapping his lips around the head of Harry’s cock and swirling his tongue on it.

The younger’s precome tastes like salt and vinegar, almost, just not as sour, but rather sweet. Harry’s cock is much longer than Louis’ and the older can’t possibly take him in fully, but he experimentally tries, anyway. Louis has done his fair share of deepthroating and he can take in a lot before his gagging reflex kicks in, but with Harry, there’s still couple of inches that won’t fit when the gurgling sound climbs up his throat and he has to pull back, breathless.

He blinks at Harry, the younger’s lips agape and his eyes half-lidded, pleasure written all over his face. ”God damn,” he whispers just as Louis bends down again to spit on his hand and then take Harry in again.

He bobs his head up and down and makes up for the rest of it with his spit slick hand, humming contently every time the tip of Harry’s hits him at the back of his throat. It’s a pleasant, probing kind of a feeling that Louis has always enjoyed, but right now he has to do some serious work to not think about _who_ he’s sucking off, just to keep himself in some sort of check. Harry keeps bucking his hips up, but Louis has to push them down with his hand to keep himself from choking, which only seems to turn Harry more desperate.

The taller’s writhing and moaning, much louder than Louis had been, but it does funny things to the older. He keeps his eyes on Harry’s constantly transforming face, the man’s teeth gnawing on his lips only for them to pop open to release a lengthy groan or moan, his brows knitting together and then smoothing when they rise higher on the man’s forehead. He looks perfect and it’s a pure miracle Louis doesn’t get hard in a span of a second.

When Harry peels his eyes open and meets Louis’ gaze, the older sucks harder, his cheeks hollowing, humming as he moves faster and keeps licking at the underside of Harry’s cock. It’s obscene, the way Harry arches his back but remains looking at Louis like he’s heaven-sent. Louis can feel Harry’s muscles on his abdomen tighten, he can tell Harry’s trying to splutter something about coming, so he guides his left hand under the younger’s shirt, his fingernails scratching the skin all the way up to his chest, where he pinches Harry’s nipple, tweaking it between his two fingers.

The pain finally does it for Harry, just like Louis knew it would, and he’s releasing his sticky, white come inside Louis’ mouth with a shout of the older’s name, his back arching and the muscles in his arms flexing with the way he holds onto the armrest. The smaller man tries his best to avoid thinking about how rich and salty Harry tastes on his tongue, how the older could live with the strain in his jaw for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to feel the heavy weight of Harry in his mouth every day. Louis sucks him dry, his lips wrapped around Harry’s tip and his tongue lathing at the slit until he can feel Harry shuddering with the oversensitive feeling.

He pulls of slowly, basking in the way Harry whines and then he licks his lips, tasting the come of the man he’s now completely, utterly lost himself to. He tries not to think about that either, as he hums and flicks the younger’s nipple, gaining his attention. ”You’re very pretty when you come.”

Harry flushes, breathing heavy, but he still laughs while pulling up his pants. Louis remains between his legs when he sits up straight, their faces a few inches apart. ”Aren’t I always?”

The right side of Louis’ lips tugs up. ”You’re fishing for compliments, darling,” he clucks his tongue, ”Doesn’t suit you.”

The younger purses his lips, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he leans an inch closer. ”But d’you know what _does_ suit me?” Harry pushes the dangling hair out of Louis’ face, a smirk overtaking his lips. ”The face I make when you swallow.”

Louis pushes Harry away with an easy laugh, even though ’easy’ is the last thing he’s feeling at the moment. Light, yes, in the sense that he’s no longer sexually frustrated to the point where he thinks he’s going crazy, but easy? His feelings and thoughts are already crawling up his spine. Harry must see this on his face, because he’s tilting his head and quirking his brow at him.

”What’s up?”

The older sighs, leaning his elbow on the backrest of the couch as his eyes lock with Harry’s. ”You do realise you just cheated on Will, right?” The younger’s brows knit, his lips in a thin line. ”I don’t want to be the killjoy, but...”

”I get it,” Harry nods, his fingers fiddling with each other as he speaks, ”I know what I did, Lou. And.. Though you think I didn’t think it through, I really did,” his emeralds are bright, serious, ”Will and I, we’re not forever. We’re not gonna make it, no matter what I do. Even if I fucking lived in his pocket, we wouldn’t be forever.”

Louis raises his brows. ”How so?”

Harry chuckles, though it’s void of much humour. ”He doesn’t accept me as I am. I’m touchy, I love to flirt just for the fun of it. He’ll never get it and–,” the younger takes a breath, his eyes moving to his wrist where the words ’ _I can’t change’_ are printed, ”I don’t think I want to change for him.”

The older waits for Harry to look at him again, before he nods. ”Alright. As long as you know what you’re doing and saying. I’m behind you, one hundred percent,” he offers Harry a small smile, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

”Thanks,” the other mumbles, his lips twitching to a smile as well.

The moment is odd, nothing like Louis would’ve ever thought it’d be. In his dreams – or nightmares, depends on how you look at it – these things usually ended up with both of them embarrassed and fumbling to get away from each other, neither would ever mention it again, just like before. The air in his dreams is heavy and loaded with the looming change in their relationship, but right now Louis doesn’t think much will change. Neither one of them seems to be feeling awkward, neither one’s moving away and it doesn’t feel like tomorrow there’ll be something different between them. But at the same time, it’s nothing like it was years ago. He’s not embarrassed, Harry’s not either, and Louis doesn’t think he’d feel absolutely mortified if Harry were to bring this up the next day.

”You feeling better now?” Harry asks, his voice genuinely curious.

Louis laughs, nodding. ”Yeah. I, uh, have been feeling a lot of stress at work lately. Seems like being the assistant manager has its downsides.”

”I get it,” Harry smiles, his eyes kind. ”I’m sorry I barged in earlier. Just, leave a post-it on the door next time or something.”

Another, louder laugh falls from Louis’ mouth and his eyes crinkle. ”Alright. Uh, but thank you, for y’know..” Louis gestures between them, a lopsided smile forming on his thin lips.

The younger grins and finally pulls away from Louis’ space to stand up. ”Anytime, Lou,” he stretches his arms over his head and points towards Louis’ room, ”I think I need a shower. After I’ll make us some food. All the activity made me hungry.”

The older pushes Harry away by his bum and rolls his eyes, while huffing a laugh. ”Right. Waltz away, cheeky,” he wiggles his fingers and digs up his phone from his pocket as the taller man pirouettes his way out of the living room.

As soon as he hears Harry pull the door to the bathroom closed, he slumps back against the couch. His heart’s still beating a little faster than it normally would and he feels sweaty under his clothes. The room smells like sex, tacky and heavy. For a beat Louis wonders if he’s now going to have to tape his eyes shut, so that every time he sees Harry traipsing around the house naked he won’t feel the need to grip the man’s dick and shove it in his mouth. He knows there’s risks at this game, knows that even though he’s momentarily been set free of his sexual frustration, it will come back and now that he knows – now that he has been reminded of how it feels to have the younger’s hands on him, there’s a chance he won’t get rid of the feeling without those hands.

With a sigh, Louis pushes himself up from the couch and trudges to the door that leads to the backyard. He pulls the door open to let in some fresh air, before sitting in one of the lounge chairs. The sun is shining, but heavy clouds can be seen in the horizon – maybe two hours and it’ll start raining. Maybe he shouldn’t overthink it, Louis muses to himself, his eyes following a flock of birds flying to East. What’s done is done, there’s no way around it. And anyways, he doubts there’ll be that many situations where they’d have an excuse to do what they did – not like there was today. Louis certainly will avoid them and Harry probably, too. It’s simple, really. Neither one of them thinks it’s _actually_ okay to do what they did, but sometimes things happen and you can’t stop it. Today was one of those sometimes.

Louis nods to himself, letting his eyes fall shut and the sun warm his face. He won’t tell anyone and then it’ll just be one of the times they slipped. And that’ll be that.


	3. Chapter 3

”Can you actually believe we’ve got a day off together?” Leigh-Anne shakes her head, her nude-painted lips wrapping around the straw of the green smoothie, ”Like this is legit happening. When was the last time?”

Louis shrugs, dumping the Topman shopping bag on the plush couch next to him, close enough to keep his eye on his last month’s salary. ”Six months? I don’t even know. Liam’s gone soft on us.”

The woman laughs, her beautiful dark eyes turning into happy slits and her row of white teeth showing. ”You didn’t hear this from me,” she leans closer to Louis over the café table, ”But I think it’s because he and Sophia finally split up.”

Louis’ brows climb higher on his forehead and his eyes round, his tea never making it all the way to his lips. ”Excuse me?” he blinks, stretching his neck forward, ”Liam’s single?”

Leigh raises her own brows in a more suggestive manner as her tongue swipes over her top teeth, before a smirk settles on her lips. ”Yes,” she nods, leaning her chin on her palm, ”You’re too, right?”

The younger scoffs, opening his palm to gesture towards the other. ”You, too? Does it really look like I’m fucking into my boss or what?” He leans back in his chair and purses his lips. ”’Cause I’m really not.”

His friend laughs, the sound growing higher in pitch by the second, like Louis is used to hearing it. He’s not very amused at the moment, however, his thoughts already wandering into a certain direction. ”Glad you find this so amusing,” he knits his brows, a bemused smile on his lips.

”I just don’t get it,” she wheezes while dangerously squeezing the plastic cup in her hand, ”Like, you speak of it like someone’s offended all the 117 nations. Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t realize he was too low-class for you.”

And unamused and equally as unimpressed expression spreads on Louis’ face. He shakes his head, silently judging. ”Oh, bloody fine,” the woman huffs, still snickering, ”Why’re you so interested then?”

Louis takes a sip from his cup, humming. ”No reason. Just didn’t know they had problems, ’s all.”

”Really?” Leigh scrunches her face, her tone tilting upwards, ”She wasn’t at the Christmas party last year. I think it’s been going on at least since then.”

”I didn’t pay attention, I guess.”

”Well that isn’t the first,” The woman raises her brows at him, ”You’re always in your own little world these days. What’s got you so occupied? Hmm, Lou?”

It’s not that Louis doesn’t trust Leigh-Anne, they’ve been fairly good friends ever since she started at The Anchor and to be fair, their friendship does base on their mutual troubles with men and how they just don’t seem to be able to tame one – or train one, for that matter. But Harry’s a complete different chapter in that book – he isn’t even in the book, in Louis’ opinion – which, sadly, doesn’t mean he’s not the reason Louis’ been a little off for the past four days or so.

”If you’re asking am I seeing someone, then no,” he nods his head and taps the table with his fingers, ”I’m single, very much so.”

”But something’s going on,” she points at him with her eyes narrowing, ”Did you fuck someone new again?”

”No,” the younger presses, ”And what d’you mean again? It’s been, like, hundred years since I last had someone new in me bed,” he huffs and then adds more quietly, ”Sadly.”

Leigh slurps from her smoothie and keeps her eyes on Louis. ”Then what happened? You’re clearly hiding something from me. And I smell sex, good sex because you’ve been walking around with your head in the clouds.”

The tea cup is only lukewarm in Louis’ hand now, but his skin’s warm all over. ”Not proper sex,” he mutters, ”Just a blowjob, it’s nothing, really.”

His friend’s leg’s bobbing on top of her other one and she seems intrigued. Her nail extensions are bright pink and a stark contrast on the white table where she’s tapping them. ”He special or summat?” She asks, surprisingly serious, but her tone still light.

Louis instinctively shakes his head. ”Nah, just an old mate. Someone I thought I’d never do stuff like that with again.”

”But you did? And now you’re all over the place?” her perfectly lined brows raise again, ”You sure you’re not in love, boo?”

The younger snorts, taking a large gulp from his tea. ”I don’t do love, right?” he offers her a sly smile, ”I only keep ’em company for one night, occasionally two if it’s fun enough.”

Leigh tuts her tongue. ”Avoiding the question, Tomlinson,” her full lips pull into a smirk, ”Look at that. My boy’s in love. Cute.”

”Am not,” Louis laughs out, shaking his head, ”You’re making this up, Leigh.”

She bites down on her lip and raises her hands, eyes amused. ”Whatever you say. It’s none of my business anyways.”

Louis holds onto his cup a little tighter, his lashes fluttering as he smiles in a reserved manner. Another small laugh falls past his lips, though, and he pushes his fringe away from his forehead. ”I promise to introduce you two when I marry him,” there’s a bite to his words, but it’s directed to Louis himself and Leigh doesn’t pick up on it.

”Ooh, can I be one of the bridesmaids? Or grooms.. uh, is groomsmaid a thing?”

“No, Leigh, not it isn’t,” Louis sighs but also kind of laughs at the same time, shaking his head, “Anyway, don’t be planning on any weddings any time soon.”

Leigh-Anne’s face goes more serious, her eyes more curious, but she has known Louis for long enough now to know when not to probe.

At times like these, Louis is very grateful for having friends like this – they may not be too many, but in quality, they beat everyone else.

–

Louis’ foot taps on the ground impatiently as he checks his phone for the time. 12.34. He’s got four hours until he has to be at work and he still has to shower and eat after they’re done with the grocery shopping. Harry’s singing can be heard from Louis’ bedroom and the older can see him inspecting his reflection on the full body mirror. The older’s brow twitches.

”Come the fuck on, Harry,” he shouts, exasperated, ”No one in the shop will care what you’re wearing, I can guarantee you that.”

The younger’s head peeks out from the room, his lips tightly smiling. ”I’m sorry,” he drawls, ”I’m sorry some of us still believe in looking like an actual human being instead of walking around with a five day scruff while wearing baggy joggers and an old band t-shirt.”

Louis looks down on his choice of clothes – or not so much of a choice, but rather the first items of clothing he’d reached when he’d stuck his hand in the dresser. He shrugs, spreading his arms out in a ’what gives’ gesture. ”I don’t think I’ll be meeting the bloody Queen in the supermarket, Harry. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, it’s literally less than a mile away.”

Harry waves his hand at Louis and pulls back inside the room to pull off his floral-patterned, loose button down and starts going through his suitcase. The older groans and slumps against the wall, his head silently banging on it. Harry emerges from the room only a few seconds later, though, wearing a black scoop neck t-shirt with his cuffed black jeans. He does look amazing, but Louis doesn’t say it out loud, refusing to give the man the encouragement for his behavior.

”Don’t you understand,” Harry snuffles as he pulls on his white Vans, ”I could meet my future husband or wife in there. Got to look sharp,” he rises to his full height and cards his fingers through the messy quiff on top of his head.

Louis raises a brow at him, finally pulling the door open and stepping in the humid air, Harry following close behind. ”There is not a single one person in that supermarket who you’d marry, not at this time of the day, H.”

”You don’t know that,” he argues, falling in step with Louis, ”Maybe I want a senior citizen.”

The older huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. ”The fuck you do. I’m not saying your vain, but I know you want someone whose body isn’t all wrinkled and old, Harold. Someone who actually moisturizes and it actually works.”

Harry laughs at that, agreeing in the end. ”But I know I’ll get a compliment out of someone in there. So the work wasn’t for nothing.”

”Who on earth would complement you? Mrs. Paxton from three buildings down?”

The younger shrugs and mirth is evident in his eyes. ”For example. Or someone at the register. I’m telling you,” Harry pokes Louis’ side with his finger, ”I’ve not gone to a supermarket once this year without getting a compliment on my clothes. It’s a mystery to the humankind how I do it, but it just happens.”

Louis shakes his head again, clucking his tongue. ”I don’t believe you. In fact, I don’t think you’ll get an unprompted praise out of anyone in there.”

”Is this a challenge?” Harry gasps, his palm on his chest, ”Because if it is, I will definitely accept.”

”Fine. Let’s make it a challenge then,” the older laughs, taking a left turn while Harry struts a little behind him. ”What d’you want for a prize if you win?”

”Unconditional love,” the younger snorts, but hurries to backtrack, ”Not really, I’ve got that already,” he’s back at Louis’ side, his face scrunched up in thought. ”Can it be anything?”

”Anything that’s not expensive to buy. Or that doesn’t include me getting fired or evicted,” Louis nods, ”If I win, I want you to buy mum’s Christmas present alone this year. I hate that shit.”

Harry narrows his eyes at Louis. ”You’re a sneaky little thing. You know Vivian doesn’t like anything she ever receives, she’s so precise with everything,” the younger shakes his head, ”Alright. Is there something I want..”

The younger keeps pondering over it for the rest of their way to the supermarket, but Louis stops him before they step inside. ”You have to decide before. Otherwise it won’t count. I need to know the stakes.”

Harry nods, considering Louis with his eyes blinking and arms crossed over his chest. ”Alright,” the taller announces then, ”I want to sleep in your bed for the rest of the week.”

Louis raises his brows. ”That’s it? Mate, you basically sleep in it all the time anyways.”

”No, no,” a mischievous smirk appears on the other’s lips, ”I sleep in your bed and you sleep on the couch.”

The taller looks so smug it should irritate Louis, but it doesn’t. Somehow it just makes Harry look even more endearing, if possible.

"Deal," is all Louis says and they shake on it.

*

Harry points at Louis with two of his fingers in a sign of ’watch me’, before he casually ambles a few feet away from the older, towards the fruit section. Louis leans his shoulder on one of the white pillars and crosses his arms on his chest, amused eyes following his nephew’s journey towards the avocados.

The younger looks at Louis - the older raising his brows - before he starts inspecting the fruits. He seems very careful, his brows knitted when he picks up one of them and starts turning it in his hands. Harry’s head slowly turns to look around while his bottom lip juts out. Louis can see all the way from where he’s standing how at the melon section, a man’s – dark hair, long figure, mid-thirties – eyes track every slow, deliberate move his nephew is making. Harry places the fruit back and scratches his head with his index finger, sighing, his hip popping out where his hand is braced, the shopping basket dangling on his wrist.

”Excuse me?” the dark haired man finally takes a few steps closer to Harry, his expression open and bright, ”Do you need help, perhaps?”

”Oh,” Harry’s posture straightens and his green eyes gain their usual sparkle as he lines his body to face the man, ”Would you be so kind? I’m just getting into this healthy food stuff and have no idea how to pick a good avocado.”

Louis can hear how his friend’s voice is smoother than usually, can see the way he’s fluttering his lashes at the older lad. ”Sure, of course,” the man laughs, his hand rubbing at his neck, ”Uh, let’s see.”

The stranger picks up one of the avocados and turns it in his hand, before leaning closer to Harry and showing him what Louis thinks is the top of the fruit. He taps the stem and pulls it off in one swift move. ”Ah,” Louis hears him say, ”This one’s overripe. See, the colour under the stem is brown already.”

He places the fruit back and picks up another one, doing the same as he did with the previous one. The stem comes off and he leans closer yet again, the men’s shoulders brushing together. ”It’s green, so it’s ripe,” he explains, all the while rather transparently gazing at Harry’s lean legs and his slightly revealed chest, ”If the stem doesn’t come off then it’s not ripe at all.” He hands the fruit to Harry.

The younger takes it and offers the man a beaming smile, his dimples popping out and white teeth flashing. ”Thanks so much. You’re so nice,” he drawls, lightly touching the stranger’s arm after he drops the fruit in his basket, ”I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” he jokes, making the other laugh.

Louis follows the exchange with keen eyes, but not surprised. He knows Harry’s a charming person by nature, people tend to gravitate towards him no matter the circumstances, but so far he hasn’t heard a compliment on the younger’s outfit. He can see Harry shifting a little closer, the men’s feet bumping together as they laugh at something the other had said, something Louis missed.

”Well, it’s always a pleasure to be of help,” the older man says with a low voice, his eyes raking over Harry’s body in a manner that can’t be read wrong, ”Especially to someone like you,” his eyes flash along with his teeth.

”Why thank you,” Harry says, his accent posh and over-exaggerated, his fingers light on the man’s arm again, ”You don’t look too bad yourself. Wish I had a shirt like this, such nice material.”

The older man’s seemingly pleased with the praise, his cheeks flushing and his eyes crinkling. Louis thinks his polo-shirt (who even wears a polo-shirt in August?) isn’t much of a fashion statement, but then again, he’s wearing a band t-shirt. ”It is, it is,” the man nods, giving Harry one more appreciative once over, ”But you look so good. I should bypass comfort for fashion as well. Though I wouldn’t make something so simple and effortless look as good as you do. Requires a certain body type, I reckon.”

A laugh falls from Harry’s lips as he shifts a step away and to the right to meet Louis’ eyes. His brows are raised and his eyes twinkling with mirth. Louis rolls his own and pushes himself away from the pillar to make his way to the pair. He nudges his black aviators down from his hair and weaves his hand in his locks as he struts to them. ”What’s taking so long with the avocados? Such a simple task,” Louis tuts his tongue, but his smile is amused as he faces Harry.

The younger man leans closer to Louis, by instinct most likely, and waves the shopping basket between them. ”Got it right here,” his greens shimmer as he opens his palm towards the stranger, ”This nice man here helped me pick a ripe one. He was very helpful.”

Louis pretends to only now notice the man, who’s gone quiet, his eyes darting between the friends. Louis can see the wheels in his head spinning, calculating. He pushes the aviators back in his hair, revealing his stark blue eyes and thin smile. ”How nice of you,” Louis nods to the man and gently wraps his fingers around the handle of the basket in Harry’s hand, tugging.

”Oh. It was no trouble,” the man assures, his smile timid all of a sudden, nothing like it had been when Louis had been observing them from further away.

His own lips pull into a more amused, wider smile as his fingers graze Harry’s on the basket. ”We should head home, babe,” he then turns his gaze to the younger, who’s already looking at him, dimples carved on his cheeks, ”Don’t wanna be late from work.”

Harry lets Louis take the basket from him easily, leaning closer to his side and nodding. ”Yeah. Thanks so much,” he says to the older man beside them, the stranger’s face resignated and disappointed.

”No problem mate,” he smiles once more, before turning on his heels and walking away with his hand in his hair.

The pair watch him go, both stifling laughs until they’re sure he can’t hear them anymore. ”So, I guess I have the bed for the next four days, eh?”

Louis drops the sunglasses back on his nose and waves his hand in a vague manner. ”Whatever. Come along now.”

Harry doesn’t stop laughing and snickering before they’re back at the flat. Louis still thinks it was worth it to see the guy’s face and Harry doesn’t seem to mind him not caring about the lost. 

**

The lights dim in the pub as Louis locks the register, making sure it’s properly secured. Liam’s on the other side of the counter, placing the last chair on upside down on one of the tables and then outreaching his palm towards the older. Louis tosses the set of keys over the counter and the younger catches them easily, stuffing them into his back pocket. ”All good,” he nods, patting the said pocket.

Louis nods and stretches his arms over his head as a pleasant cracking sounds in the room, his spine much appreciating the change in Louis’ position. His lower back’s aching a little from the long day and he honestly doesn’t know if his body will ever get used to the hours spent standing and walking without much rest. It’s been over two years and it still hasn’t, so the chances are slim.

”Fuck, I’m seriously contemplating just sleeping in the back,” he grumbles as he remembers he’ll have to take the couch tonight. The old piece of furniture is all but lumpy and rough, nothing to look forward to, certainly.

”Why? You don’t even have the morning shift,” Liam asks, bemused as he leans against the counter, his face tired and posture downright exhausted. Louis finds himself wondering if it’s because of work or the recently happened break-up. He hasn’t asked about that yet.

”I lost a bet,” he squints his eyes, looking back at the mistake he’d made earlier in the day, ”Underestimated Harry’s charm. Not for the first time,” he snorts, pressing his fingers against the dip of his back.

Amusement twinkles in his boss’ eyes as he straightens up and raises his brows. ”Don’t see what that has to do with sleeping at your workplace, really.”

”I lost my bed for the rest of the week,” Louis says, begrudgingly as he starts making his way towards the kitchen doors, ”And now I’m destined to sleep on my shitty couch.”

Liam actually laughs at that and simply tells Louis it’s his own fault, that he should know better. Louis can’t even argue with that, but he does flip the other man off. ”Are you locking the doors or me?”

The younger taps his chest. ”I’ll do it. Still gotta finish up some paper work before heading to –,” his voice halts, his brown eyes darting away from Louis’ face, ”Home. Heading home.”

Louis quirks his brow, but doesn’t ask. He knows he’ll hear all about it from Zayn as soon as the two are comfortable enough to tell what exactly is going on between them. ”Alright. I’ll just grab my stuff and be on my way.”

He waves at Liam before disappearing in the locker room to change and then heads out into the cooling London night. Louis had driven to work today, knowing he’d be too tired to take the tube home and even though he’s absolutely ready to fall asleep right this moment, his feet carry him to the vehicle and his hands work on putting on a CD (yes, he has to use a CD-player in his car because it’s that old) Zayn had made him a few years back. The upbeat music pouring through the speakers actually helps him perk up a little, just enough to take him home.

The flat’s dark when Louis enters it, but he can see light streaming from under the door of his bedroom. He kicks his Vans off his feet and hangs his denim jacket on the rack, before walking in the kitchen. There’s a small pile of bills on the table that Louis goes through quickly, trying to figure out if it’ll be hard to get through the month. With his promotion, he’d gotten a nice raise as well, though, so lately he hasn’t been struggling with that as much, and it seems like this month’s not a problem either.

Louis chucks the bills on top of the bill folder he keeps in his drawer, scribbling a post it note on the table to remind himself to pay them. He drinks a glass of water while inspecting the contents of the fridge and pulls out a plate of chocolate chip cookies Harry had presumably made. Louis eats in silence for several minutes, his brain slowing down with each bite, the fatigue catching up. Just as he rinses the plate, he can hear his bedroom door creaking open.

As he looks to his right, he can see Harry appearing in the doorway, only clad in his grey briefs. He doesn’t look nearly as tired as Louis feels, but the older can tell the exact moment he realizes how exhausted he is. Harry’s brows scrunch and the playful smile subdues as he crosses his arms over his chest, covering the moth tattoo. ”Are you okay? You look like shit.”

”Gee, thanks, H,” Louis half-smirks, his brows arching, ”You know how to throw a compliment.”

Harry doesn’t comment on his words, just frowns deeper. ”Is your back hurting again?”

Louis hadn’t even noticed his forearm had curled around his back to press on the sore spot there, his left hand resting on the edge of the sink. ”A little, yeah. Lots of standing, you know how it is.”

There’s a moment of silence where Louis closes his eyes and tries to rub at his back, but his arm’s in an awkward angle and he can’t quite reach the right spot properly. He sighs in defeat and blinks his lids open, Harry still standing at the doorway, his eyes shimmering but serious. ”Let me massage you a bit. I’ve picked up a thing or two from one of my mates who’s studying to be a sport’s massage therapist.”

The older feels knackered to every last bone in his body and frankly, he just wants to fall on his lumpy couch and fall asleep, but Harry’s got that determined line in his brows that Louis knows all too well. The faster he agrees, the faster he’ll get some sleep. ”Alright,” he shrugs, walking out of the kitchen, shimmying past Harry.

”In the bed, preferably,” Harry says as Louis starts towards the living space.

Louis changes his course and slips into the bedroom, ridding his t-shirt and jeans as well, fully intending to go to sleep right after Harry’s done. He crawls on his bed as Harry follows him, placing his right knee on the mattress. ”On your tummy.”

As the older flops down and rests his cheek on the pillow, he huffs. ”This is a real dick move.”

Harry scoffs from where he’s throwing his right leg over Louis’ legs and sitting on the back’s of his thighs. ”How is me offering you a massage a dick move?”

Louis raises his torso up from the mattress to have a better look at Harry, but he’s pushed down right away from his shoulders with a ’stay down’. ”Letting me lie down in my nice, soft bed, only to kick me out for the night,” the older clarifies, his tone offended.

The younger’s thumbs press to either side of Louis’ spine then, at the lower part of his back. The pressure gets a pleased snuffle out of Louis, his eyes falling shut. ”I’m not kicking you out,” Harry’s voice is soft and quiet, ”Your back’s gonna be worse tomorrow if you sleep on the couch.”

Louis peers at Harry without lifting his head, the taller man’s eyes concentrated on his hands and the way he’s adding pressure to Louis’ back. ”Thanks,” he murmurs, letting his lids drop again.

Harry doesn’t reply, just keeps firmly kneading the flesh under the older’s skin, his hands quite skillful. Louis can feel the pressure in his muscles easing bit by bit and the feeling is so nice he could fall asleep to it. He’s vaguely aware of the soft hums he’s emitting, but mostly he focuses on the nice press of Harry’s shins against his own thighs and the way his skin feels warm against Louis’.

The hands on his back move slightly up towards his shoulder blades and he can feel Harry shifting forward as well, his weigh moving on Louis’ bum. Louis didn’t even know he had tension in his shoulders and neck, but a slow, low moan falls from his lips as Harry’s fingers add pressure on the muscles there, his knuckles moving in the center of the older’s back.

”Oh, that feels good,” he mumbles and another moan escapes him as Harry adds a tad more pressure to the presses of his thumbs at the top of Louis’ spine.

After that it seems like Louis can’t keep the small sounds of pleasure inside, his tired brain officially calling it quits for the day. His eyes are shut and his lips stay agape, though Harry’s touches get lighter eventually. Only then can he focus his mind again and only then does he notice the hard line pressing against his boxer clad bum. His eyes blink open as Harry’s fingertips, his nails, scrape the skin of Louis’ neck.

Harry leans his upper body forward then, his chest coming closer to Louis’ back, but not touching it. Louis feels lips against his scalp and hears the heavy breaths leaving Harry’s mouth. For three seconds or so, the older wonders what’s going to happen next. If he should just make a joke of it, if he should just pretend he’s falling asleep or if he should just act like he doesn’t notice it. Being Louis – being tired Louis, he does none of the above.

With slow movements, he lifts himself up on his elbows and turns his head to look at Harry, who’s forced to move away from Louis’ hair with the older’s motion. Their eyes meet, Harry’s glazed over but certain and Louis’ no doubt sleepy but curious. Harry’s hands are on Louis’ shoulders, squeezing there and Louis can see the man swallow. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear someone’s frantic shout of this isn’t a good idea, get the fuck out of the room, but he ignores it. He’s much too tired to think rationally, at least to that extent.

”This isn’t a good idea,” he shakes his head, letting it drop for a second or two, before peering up at Harry. ”This is a fucking terrible idea.”

Harry bites down on his lower lip, gnaws on it and shrugs. ”I didn’t say anything. We don’t have to,” his voice is leveled, but strained with arousal.

Louis can clearly feel Harry pressing against him and his own cock is slowly, but surely filling up against the mattress. ”We don’t have to,” he repeats slowly, nodding while holding the eye contact.

Several seconds pass in complete silence, both clearly waiting the moment to break the ice – one way or another. Harry’s the first one to lean closer, his lips so close Louis can feel the tiny puffs of air hitting his own lips. ”Is it fucked up?” Harry asks, but his tone holds no heaviness, just the curiosity of a child.

Something twisted, but undeniably hot twirls in Louis’ stomach at the words. He presses his eyes shut for a moment, taking in a breath and exhaling. ”Only if we make it into that,” he blinks at the younger.

”Let’s not,” Harry’s hands travel lower on Louis’ back, to his sides and squeeze. ”It’s just us, yeah?”

Louis nods before any sane part of his brain might wake up and then Harry grinds down on his arse and Louis shudders out a breath. His head falls forward, his forehead hitting the pillow as Harry repeats the motion, more deliberately this time as if to test out the waters. Louis’ mind is racing with the speed of his pounding heart, but he lets Harry turn him onto his back and straddle him.

The older’s hands travel up Harry’s thick thighs as his eyes rake his body. It’s really the first time in so long he gets to look at the man without worrying about getting caught, gets to admire the black ink on the defined muscles and smooth skin, gets to touch the slightly soft flesh on the younger’s hips and actually moan when Harry grinds against him again.

”Oh, dear God,” he mutters under his breath as Harry scoots down on his legs and swiftly pulls away Louis’ briefs and then his own.

Instead of climbing on top of Louis, Harry lies next to him and the older turns onto his side as well. There’s a few inches between them, neither reaching out to touch the other. They lock eyes over the electric air and Louis can feel the goose bumps rising on his skin as he slowly pushes his hand over the mattress to brush his thumb over Harry’s nipple, the nub hard under his finger.

Harry inhales sharply, but remains unaffected otherwise. This is a whole new territory to Louis. He’s touched Harry before, they’ve done things together, but something’s different now. There’s no excuse, not really, just the definite truth of both of them wanting to touch, wanting to feel the other.

”D’you think it’ll be weird in the morning if we do something?” Louis asks, his palm flattening on the moth, Harry’s chest rising and falling.

”Why would it?” Harry asks, his hand landing on Louis’ hip and his tongue poking out to wet his lips, ”We’re both adults. We’re both in need of stress relieving,” he takes in Louis’ worried eyes and gets closer, sneaking his left hand under Louis’ head and letting his right hand’s fingers lightly tease the skin around the older’s groin, ”We’re not related, Lou.”

Louis’ lashes flutter, his throat bobbing. ”What are we then? Aren’t I your uncle? Don’t you call me that?”

Harry leans closer, hiding his face into Louis’ neck and kissing there as his fingers gently wrap around Louis’ cock. ”I do, but it’s only for fun. We’re friends, babe,” he sucks on the skin under Louis’ ear.

The older can feel the last of his resolve crumbling as Harry’s hand moves, his thumb spreading the precome on his cock. He sucks in a breath and tightly squeezes the younger’s side when Harry nibbles at his earlobe and starts pumping him slowly.

”Okay,” Louis breathes out, ”Friends.”

Louis’ own fingers scratch the skin on Harry’s navel before taking a hold of his cock, catching up to Harry’s pace. The feel of the younger’s pulsing length in his palm is powerful enough to send a shiver right through Louis. It’s just on the right side of pleasurable to disregard every fear or hesitant thought Louis might’ve had.

Harry’s lips are on the older’s neck, kissing and sucking with light pressure – so light Louis wants to ask for more, demand for more, but he’s not sure if he can. If he’s allowed to. The taller’s left palm is pressed firmly against the skin between Louis’ shoulder blades, pulling him in closer, their burning bodies torsos touching. The press of Harry’s hand is firm and even around him, steady and all-consuming in a way that makes Louis shudder, short puffs of air and small ohs hitting Harry’s cheek with each stroke.

”Fuck, your hand feels good,” Harry breathes, his sharp teeth grazing the skin of the older’s neck, biting towards his shoulder and then down to his collarbone.

Louis can feel himself getting closer to the edge and it’s embarrassing how fast he’s going there, but this feels different. This feels different than the other day on the couch, because they weren’t close like this. It was just a favour for a friend then, quick and clinical compared to this. Now he can feel Harry’s chest heaving with every breath he takes, the stutter of the younger’s hand every time Louis manages to give him a particularly nice stroke and the heat and slowly building sweat on their skins are mixing.

”Shit, I’m out of practice,” he laughs out, his voice ragged as he shimmies his torso away from Harry’s wet mouth. ”I’m gonna come if you don’t stop that.”

Harry’s gleaming, green eyes meet Louis’ blue ones, his lips tugging into a lopsided, halfefforted smirk. ”Isn’t that the point?”

Before Louis says anything, Harry lets go of him and drapes his fingers around the older’s wrist to detach his hand from Harry as well. He scoots closer, their stomachs pressing together and cocks aligning, rubbing together and sending heavy jolts of pleasure right through Louis. His eyes keenly follow the way Harry squeezes his hip with more pressure than he’s put on the smaller man’s body all evening, emitting a moan from Louis, before he wraps his huge palm around both of their lengths with ease.

The first stroke makes Louis inhale sharply, his right hand tightly fisting in Harry’s hair and tugging, while his right one fumbles for something to hold onto without blocking the view of his nephew’s hand around them both. Harry moans, his half-lidded eyes glued to the slowly accelerating move of his hand, his left hand’s nails digging into the skin on Louis’ back.

”Dear God,” Louis groans out when Harry’s thumb clumsily swipes over his slit and precome spurts out of his cock, coating the tips of the younger’s fingers.

”You’re close,” Harry marvels, his voice low and gruff as he turns to look at Louis.

With the up-tilt of Harry’s head, their lips nearly brush. Another bulb of precome leaks out of him at the thought and a whiny noise crawls out of him, Harry’s eyes pinning him in place with their loaded gaze. Louis licks at his lower lip to catch some of the hot air leaving the younger’s mouth and Harry leans closer, but not enough for their lips to meet. He keeps hovering so close all it would take for them to connect is a slight change in either one’s position, but they don’t ever waver enough. Harry keeps him in place with his hand and Louis’ own palm is fisting the sheets behind his thigh for balance. The tease of the kiss, the build-up of the tension is what eventually does it for Louis, his head tipping forward to collide with Harry’s as come spurts out of him as white, thick stripes, painting their stomachs and chests.

Louis can’t see Harry, his eyes shut tight, but he can feel how he tenses and hear the gravel of a moan that leaves his lips to hit Louis’ cheek and then there’s another load shot on their bodies, warm and trickling. Louis tugs at the younger’s hair with a little force to prolong the other’s pleasure and it causes for Harry to keen high, before falling away from the older, his body exhausted.

Louis’ chest is heaving as he lies on his side, right hand safely tucked under Harry’s head and the left one now drawing lazy circles on his come covered chest and abs. His eyes keep fluttering shut but he forces them open to look at the other man, him breathless as well, sprawled on the bed with a satisfied smile on his lips. Louis doesn’t know if he should count this as strike two or four – if he should even try counting. Harry lolls his head towards him and smiles bigger.

”Hi.”

”Hey.”

The atmosphere is easy, still and Louis can’t feel the terror rising inside him. He doesn’t know what to make of that. Harry looks extremely pretty with his naked, sweat glistening body and another wave of arousal laps at the shores inside Louis as he takes in the man’s disheveled hair and the drying come on his body. His limp dick doesn’t even nudge, though, much too spent and tired. Louis’ thankful.

”Finally know why you’ve got such fucking big palms,” the older mumbles and pulls his hand from under Harry’s sweaty hair.

The taller laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ”They are quite handy.”

Louis gives him an unimpressed look from his side of the bed, before releasing a long sigh – partly content, partly tired. He kicks his legs over the edge of the bed and waddles inside the bathroom. With slight amusement he notes how relaxed his muscles feel, as he wets a wash cloth and starts wiping away the mess they’d made. Harry appears at the doorway just a while later, plucking his toothbrush from the cup he’d given Louis some years back. They share smiles through the mirror as Harry brushes his teeth, some toothpaste dribbling on his stomach, mixing with come and sweat.

The older arches a brow as he cleanses the cloth as well as he can with only water and then offers it to Harry once the taller spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth. ”You do it,” the taller says, his voice strong, but tone kind and soft, tired.

Louis doesn’t argue, much too late for him to start bantering about this. He takes two steps closer to be in Harry’s space and attaches the warm cloth to the younger’s navel, wiping upwards towards his pecs. Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him and not many seconds later, the younger’s hand lands on his hip and a soft kiss is pressed against his feathery hair. He smiles to himself as he wipes the last of the mess and throws the cloth on the drying rack messily, for either one of them to put in the washing machine the next day.

Harry makes a disgruntled noise and steps away from Louis to properly splay the towel on the rack, his eyes locked with Louis’. ”It’ll start smelling if you won’t put it here properly,” he chastises.

The older huffs, but smiles as he slips out of the room to pull out a new pair of briefs from his dresser. He makes a mental note to buy some new ones as his eyes catch at least four pairs that are starting to wilt, basically. Just as Louis pushes the drawer closed, Harry’s palm connects with his left arse cheek, his chin hooking over the older’s shoulder.

”I reckon it should be illegal for you to show this thing around,” he mumbles with laughter in his voice as he gives the same left cheek a squeeze.

Despite the playful, easy tone of the younger’s words, Louis can feel heat pooling in his lower stomach, so he pulls away from the touch with a loud huff and an emerging smile. ”Or, people should learn how to keep their sticky fingers off it.”

Harry laughs gleefully, before picking up a pair of briefs from his suitcase to pull on. Louis slips his own pair on and crawls back into the bed, pulling the covers over his slowly chilling chest. He snuggles his cheek into the pillow and with delight notes that it smells like Harry’s hair, the vanilla shampoo. The taller lies down as well after plugging his phone to a charger, his long arm pulling the older against his chest with ease.

Louis doesn’t complain as Harry tangles his legs with his and he doesn’t complain when his hand starts stroking the skin of Louis’ chest lightly. He does sigh contently when the taller noses at the nape of his neck and hums lowly. Harry feels solid and warm against his own colder skin and lately Louis’ noticed he sleeps better with Harry either wrapped around him like a huge koala bear or nestled in Louis’ own arms, his chest heaving under the older’s palm. It’s one of the things he refuses to worry over, much like this one right here: how easy it is to get physical with the other man, how easy it is to forget there ever was any other kind of a relationship between them.

”Goodnight, Lou,” Harry whispers on his neck, his damp lips nudging the line of his jaw.

The butterflies in Louis’ belly flap furiously, but he smothers each and every one of them. ”Night, H.”

Despite the beginnings of an emotional turmoil inside him, he sleeps like a baby.

–

Two weeks later being sexually pent up is merely a distant memory for Louis. It’s this faded inkling of a feeling he used to have what feels like a hundred years ago, something that he now can only wistfully hope to have back. One would think it’s a liberating feeling, to get marvellous handjobs in bed before eight a.m. or to have lips as sinfully plump as Harry’s wrapped around one’s cock in the shower, in the kitchen or on the couch on the daily. But, one would be mistaken, if one would be as gullible and stupid as Louis has been.

He’s not sexually pent up anymore, but _oh_ how he wishes he would be.

There’s this thing about sex and getting laid regularly. Louis has never been one to turn down casual sex, because he enjoys it. He enjoys it enough to have it in the toilet at a club, enough to have it with someone he’s only known for a few hours even, when the mood strikes. But he doesn’t _need to_ have sex every week, let alone every day, certainly not when he’s not in a relationship. Louis has sex because his body and mind get restless if he doesn’t. He has sex because it’s fun and he likes to get adventurous with someone he trusts (Zack) every now and then.

But regular sex is different. Louis has only dated two guys seriously, the last relationship having ended over a year ago. That, however, doesn’t mean he can’t remember what it was like to be in a relationship and all over the person you fancy from head to toe. Once the sex gate has been opened, it’s like a flood, how the craving comes. You see your significant other lounging on a couch and you want to ravish them. You see them folding laundry and you want to rip their clothes off and bend them over the washing machine. You see them cooking and you want to push them against the nearest wall to give them a blowie. Basically, any mundane thing about them turns you on. And that’s not an issue, because you’re dating. Regular sex is a good thing, because in most cases it means the relationship is ignited and stays that way.

The problem with Harry, though, is that they’re not dating. They’re having oral sex, handjobs – nothing else. Louis has set boundaries for the sake of his own sanity and those boundaries include no kisses and no sex. ’ _No bum stuff’_ , as Harry had said when Louis had wriggled away from underneath him as the younger’s fingers started to stroke around his rim, and simply said _’off limits, dear_ ’. Harry had taken it well, because it’s Harry. The kisses hadn’t even come up and Louis mostly thinks it’s because of Will. He’s not completely sure where those two even stand at the moment and every time his guilty conscience raises its head and he asks about it, Harry just tells him not to worry about it. So, Louis hasn’t worried about it, because it’s none of his business. Kind of. And he has his own problems anyway.

Regular sex, right, is a good thing. He’s established that, has tried to believe it. But when it comes to the point where he’s getting sucked off by Harry in the morning and jerked off by him in the evening and he still has to wank at least once a day to avoid suggesting ’ _bum stuff’_ \- that’s when it becomes an issue. That’s where it _has become_ an issue. Louis isn’t sexually pent up, but now he can’t keep it under the wraps anymore. He can’t push away the fucking always-there yearning to just push Harry’s black briefs down his legs and spread his cute, little hole open with his tongue and then his fingers and –. And that is how Louis’ mind now works, almost 24/7.

”Alright, that’s it,” Zayn finally huffs, annoyed to the point where he just rips one of his sketches from Louis’ hand, the older’s eyes widening, ”What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re not even _here_.”

His best friend’s eyes are brooding and his dark brows twitching with how irked he is, but it still takes Louis a few seconds to even gather up his mess of a mind. ”Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”

”Bullshit,” Zayn spits, turning on his stool so that he’s facing the shorter man.

He looks demanding and Louis knows it’s mostly because he hasn’t been concentrating at all today. It’s Louis’ day off and he’d promised Zayn to help him pick out some sketches that the younger could then work on to add them to his portfolio, the one he’s sending to this marketing company where he’s applying for the graphic designer’s spot. Louis knows how important this is to his friend, fully aware of how much Zayn wants to leave behind his current job as an assembler at a tech company, so he understands the annoyance.

”Forget about it, mate,” Louis shakes his head and picks up another sketch to give it some thought, ”Let’s just move on.”

Zayn keeps his eyes on him, however, plucking the sheet from him. ”Nuh-uh, _mate_ ,” his tone’s sharp, ”You won’t get shit done like that. Just spit it out, what’s up? Harry done something?”

Technically no, he hasn’t done anything. And that seems to be the issue, if he’s being honest. And Louis hates lying to Zayn, but so far he’d figured that it’s not lying if his friend doesn’t ask. It’s just leaving something untold. ”No,” he shakes his head and meets Zayn’s eyes, ”I just really need to get laid.”

A beat passes where Louis can’t decipher what Zayn’s thinking, but then the man leans back in his stool and sighs. ”You know, I’d offer but I’m actually sort of involved with someone,” the younger’s eyes don’t waver the slightest and Louis is reminded of how he’s not the only one leaving things untold, ”It’s not like you haven’t had the chance to, Tommo. I don’t get why you keep fucking them up.”

There’s two ways this can go, as Louis sees it. Either he’ll change the direction of the conversation by bringing up Liam or he’ll simply let Zayn lecture him about chickening out on Matthew and letting Harry distract him with Emmett. He ponders on it and in the end, he somehow manages to find a middle ground.

Louis keeps his voice leveled and easy sounding when he speaks. ”I tried with Zack, but Harry walked in when my dick was down his throat. And though I like some pretty kinky stuff, as you would know, I don’t particularly enjoy my nephew watching or hearing me bang my regular booty call.”

Zayn blinks at him and then stifles a laugh, poorly, though. ”Karma really is a bitch. For you or Harry, I’m not sure. Did you not once walk in on him and--.”

”Yes,” Louis interrupts, lifting his hand and screwing his eyes shut, ”Don’t remind me.”

It takes a few moments for Zayn to calm down with his giggles, but when he does, he braces his hands on the white counter top and considers Louis for a moment, but his expression already tells the older he’s not going to like what Zayn has to say.

”You have to get away from him, Louis,” the younger purses his lips and arches his brows in a manner that says _’are you gonna fight me on this_ ’ and Louis isn’t going to. He knows Zayn’s right.

”Yeah. Somewhere where there’s booze,” he lifts up one finger, ”Someone to fuck,” another finger goes up as he sighs, followed by the third, ”And you.”

Zayn’s lips tug into a smirk as he pats Louis on his knee. ”Looks like you’re taking Friday to Sunday off next week and we’re heading up North.”

The older raises his brows and picks up a sketch that’s basically a colourful splash on paper, examining it. ”Yeah, yeah. I never liked me job anyways, so it’ll be good I won’t have it by the following Monday anymore, then.”

”I’ll work it out,” Zayn shrugs and drags one of the variations of the sketch Louis is holding towards himself, ”I like this one better. It has more edge, I think.”

”You’ll work it out? Want to dive into your thing now?”

The younger’s eyes pierce him. ”The sketches? Sure.”

Louis replaces the sketch on the table, this time tucking it in the pile they’ve already dismissed. ”Into Liam.”

Zayn’s movements don’t halt, instead his hands travel on the table with such smoothness anyone else might think he hadn’t even heard Louis. Alas, Louis is his best friend and knows he’s heard the older just fine. He’s just being petulant about it. ”He’s not ’my thing’.”

”No?” Louis’ tone inches to the right side of high-pitched as he leans his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his palm, ”’Cause I heard him and Sophia broke up.”

This time Zayn graces him with a glance, his face expressionless. ”I see.”

Never having been the most patient one, Louis kicks his friend’s shin with enough force to make the facade of indifference fall away. ”Ow! Fuck, Louis,” Zayn grumbles as he smooths his hand over the sore spot.

”Stop being vague. I’m your best friend, Zayn,” he gives the man a pointed look, ”And do I need to remind you of the fact that Liam’s my boss? Haven’t we got an agreement about colleagues?”

Finally, the younger man discards the sketches and turns to face Louis again, his hand gliding through his smooth hair. He looks a little nervous now, something that doesn’t happen very often in the life of Zayn Malik, Louis has learned. The man’s known for his stoic and steely expressions, so if Louis’ interest hadn’t piqued before, it certainly does now.

”Alright, fine,” he starts, his amber eyes flitting from Louis to the sketches and then back again, ”I properly met him one night in June. I came to see if you wanted to have a pint, but I’d mixed up the dates and you weren’t working. I asked for you from one of the newbies, Josh, I think, and he was so lost. He fumbled with the tap and spilled some beer on his hands and then somehow managed to get some splashes on me. Nothing major, I wasn’t even that pressed,” Zayn lifts his brows as if to say ’ _such a hassle, for no reason_ ’, ”But Liam saw it and as the owner, he thought it was only polite to apologize. He gave me a pilsner on the house and I asked him why weren’t you there, which is when I realized the mix up. We got to talking and he’s actually really cool, yeah?”

Louis nods. ”Liam’s very laid back. Too nice for his own good, probably,” the older hums.

Zayn nods his agreement. ”We have tons of things in common, although I never thought it was possible. He’s such a bulky dude, who likes to hike and go to the gym for _fun._ But we both like Marvel and collect comic books, we’re passionate about R&B music from the sixties and then there’s dogs. You know how I feel about dogs,” the younger’s mouth is in a firm line and were it not such a critical moment, Louis would laugh.

He doesn’t, however, just nods again. ”I do.”

The other man takes a deep breath and looks somewhere to his left before continuing. ”He’s hot. Built like a fucking closet. Of course I felt attracted to him from moment one,” Zayn laughs dryly, pinching the bridge of his nose, ”I met Sophia the same night, though. She was lovely.”

”Perfect for Liam,” Louis mutters out his thoughts quietly.

The younger turns his gaze down to his hands that are clasped together on his lap. ”It was just attraction for his body I felt that night, I wasn’t too pressed about it. We only got to know each other better when we ran into each other again a week later, at one of the smaller comic conventions – that was shit by the way – and went for lunch, bonded over it,” Zayn’s words are faster now, excitement peeking through here and there, the kind that Louis only ever sees when the man’s working on a new painting, ”He became, like, a zillion times more attractive after that day. And generally speaking, I’m fucking great at denying myself things. You know I don’t get hung up on people or places, only paintings. Art.”

”Yeah, I know,” Louis says, chin still on his palm, ”Go on.”

Zayn exhales on a laugh. ”Liam’s.. Not just muscles and dazzling smiles. I don’t know what happened, maybe it’s one of those times when someone’s hot and then their personality just ambushes you, making them just that much hotter. I don’t fucking now,” he laughs again, bemused at himself, most likely, ”I didn’t wanna tell you, ’cos of the agreement. I was selfish, I know. But Liam was with Sophia, there was literally no way I could’ve pursued him, so,” the man shrugs, a little helpless.

”’s alright,” Louis assures, nudging the younger’s foot in reassurance.

Zayn throws him a smile and continues. ”I know that by logic I could’ve told you, because he was off-limits. But I wanted to keep my options open. I asked Liam not to tell you, told him I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about your boss and your best friend befriending each other. That’s when he started asking you to hang out after work.”

Louis gasps. ”So he didn’t want to be me friend? _Rude_.”

The taller laughs, shaking his head. ”No, he genuinely did. He just got the push from whatever we were by then,” Zayn smiles lopsided, but it fades as he goes on, ”Then, one night, you were working and Liam and I hit the pub down the street, you know the one that’s owner is obsessed with parrots.”

”I know, yeah.”

”Yeah. We got a bit tipsier than we were supposed to and he asked if he could crash on my couch, said Sophia and him had argued. Of course I let him. Literally took three steps in, barely managed to close the door and he was pushing me against a wall and kissing me. Was so sure I had finally started hallucinating for having spent so much time around paints. I wasn’t though,” Zayn shakes his head, ”Of course I stopped him from shoving his tongue into my mouth again, asked him, and I quote: ’What the hell? You’re engaged, you dumbfuck, why the hell are you grinding on me?’”

Louis raises his brows, a smile threatening to spread on his lips. ”Poor Liam. Did you do the thick Bradford accent and the hand gestures, too? The ones that go like this,” the older dabs Zayn’s chest with two of his fingers with pointed pressure.

”Of course,” the younger scoffs, ”He was terrified he’d fucked up. I made him tea and forbade him from leaving. He looked like he could’ve shat his pants, like a fucking teenager caught smoking weed by his dad. Had I not been so confused, I probably would’ve laughed,” Zayn admits with a hint of smile.

”So, I sat him down and asked him again, with a kinder tone. He apologized for his rash actions and told me he’s broken up with Sophia. I didn’t know if I should cry or laugh, because obviously we have the agreement, so I let him tell me about her. About their relationship and about what went wrong. And I seriously thought that he’d just, I don’t know, go to sleep after we’d talked for hours.”

”But?” Louis prompts, feeling like he’s reading a good book, tension building.

”He told me he’s never been as attracted to anyone than he’s to me,” Zayn meets Louis’ eyes and the older leans back in his stool, mouthing ’ _that smooth bastard_ ’, the younger’s lips pulling into a smile again, ”And when have I ever not loved a proper stroke to my ego, right? But it gets better – or worse, depends on how you look at it. Then he said,” Zayn lowers his voice an octave, ”’I’ve never fucked a man, but I know I’d fuck you real good if you’d let me.’”

Louis’ jaw drops as he gasps. ” _No._ ”

”Yes!” Zayn hides his face behind his hands and cries out a strangled noise.

”Did you?” Louis leans closer, his tone somewhere between curious and bordering on desperate.

The younger lifts his head again and inhales deeply, not a sign of remorse on his face. ”Of course I did.”

A stunned silence follows where Louis seems to have lost all of his bones, his body slumping in the stool and his mouth pressing shut to gain some control over himself. He looks at his friend who’s clearly waiting for his ruling on the choice he’d made months ago, but it takes the older a while to collect his thoughts. Instead of feeling mad or betrayed, he actually feels like he’d been reading a really good book just now, dying to know what’s the climax of the story and now that he’s got it, he’s filled with a buzzing feeling of content.

”Well, was he any good?”

Zayn’s lashes flutter as if he’d tasted the world’s best chocolate just now, a low, long hum erupting from the man. ”Oh, yeah. He fucked me all night long. My body was littered with bite-marks the next morning and I was sore, but he still ate me out for half an hour. I was positively wrecked.”

Louis blinks. ”He’s not kind at all in bed, is he?” The older shakes his head, trying to envision his teddy bear of a boss manhandling someone in bed while simultaneously trying to avoid doing exactly that.

The other shakes his head a ’no’. ”It started out as something very casual. Mostly fucking in the little hours of the morning, before he had to be at the pub and before I fell asleep from my night-shift. And I’m not one to try and make something more complicated than it has to be, so we kept it up for, like, a little over two weeks,” Zayn seems amused now as he leans closer to Louis, his elbows on his knees, ”He might be an animal in bed, but the man can’t do casual. Liam took me out to this art exhibition in Soho and as soon as I saw where we’d arrived I knew he was going to complicate it. I went with it, out of curiosity.”

The older arches his brows, a small grin on his lips. ”Let me guess. He did something overly adorable and your softie heart couldn’t turn him down?”

Zayn’s eyes twinkle. ”He had arranged one of my works to be up there, Louis. It was there for the whole weekend, the spot was so expensive, I swear to God.”

Louis whistles at that. ”He doesn’t kid around, Liam.”

”You think?” the taller laughs, leaning back in his chair again, picking up one of the black and white sketches. ”He told me he likes me. He told me lots of things, but for the sake of your working relationship I won’t repeat them here,” Louis thanks him, ”Liam wanted to make it official. Like, he wanted to take me on dates, though I told him I’m very hard to please. He said he wants to spend nights at mine and wants me to spend some at his. Wants to be exclusive.”

Zayn shrugs as a dopey smile spreads on his pink lips. Louis shakes his head in amazement and slight confusion. During all these years he’s been best friends with Zayn, he’s never seen the man even attempting at settling down. Like he’d said, he doesn’t get hung up on people or places, only paintings and art. Zayn likes sex the same way Louis does, so during a particularly busy time they might’ve had sex with each other in the past, but it’s been a long time since that last happened. But Zayn’s never been someone to actively seek out someone to have sex with, let alone to settle down with. He’d always said that there’s not one person on this earth he could feel as close to as he does to Louis, not to mention have romantic feelings towards on top of that.

”I don’t judge,” Louis eventually says and Zayn turns to him from where he’s hunched over the sketches again, giving Louis the time to digest the story time, ”These things don’t happen to all of us. Never thought it’d happen to you, so. Have at it.”

The younger smiles at him, genuine and thankful. ”Cool.”

”So,” Louis derails the conversation, ”Who’s going up North with us?”

Zayn smirks. ”I’ll pick the best bunch. Don’t worry over it, just go with the flow.”

–

Driving to Manchester had been a blast on its own, but Louis had had more fun during the last two days he’s had in a year, probably. Zayn had convinced Liam to give Louis the three days off without altering his next week’s shifts and Louis didn’t ask how he did it, but sexual favours were most likely involved, if the rasping voice the younger had been sporting when he’d called Louis to inform him of their trip getting the green light. That had been on Monday and the thought of getting out of London for a full weekend powered him through the whole week.

When he’d told Harry he’s going to Manchester for the weekend with the lads, the younger had seemed a little torn for some reason. Louis hadn’t asked about it, just told him that if he needed anything he could always call Louis, but even then it seemed like he’d rather not have Louis go. There’d been a small tug at his heart that had made it that much easier and finally pushed him out of the door on Friday morning, with a kiss on one sleepy Harry Styles’ forehead and quick-called goodbyes.

Harry hadn’t called or texted, which is for the best. Calvin, Zayn and Louis have spent the past two days either drunk or high, while Stan has graciously been watching over them, despite them being here to visit his cousin, Alec. It’s been all about the partying, clubs and greasy food while trying to avoid coming down too hard, sex in the backseat of the car or in a stranger’s house where the after-party was held. Something Louis did last probably a year ago or so, when they were at the Leeds festival.

Now, though, he doesn’t feel quite as refreshed as he would hope, because he’s supposed to meet his mother for a coffee before they head back to London. It’s not even ten a.m. yet and he’d stumbled at Alec’s apartment after four this morning, still a little drunk, but freshly fucked. His mother was kind enough to meet him in Manchester, luckily, so he had at least some time to sleep and then shower before heading out.

Louis sees Vivian right away as he steps inside the café, the woman that he considers a right to call his mother on most days, sitting in the far corner of the space. He waves at her, before going up to the counter and ordering a black coffee and a chocolate muffin and then trudges to the table where Vivian’s sitting.

”Hi, lovely,” she says and gives him a tight hug before they sit down.

”How are you?” Louis asks the first thing, taking a long sip from the burning hot coffee, enjoying the sitting position much more than standing.

Vivian raises her brows at him, clearly amused. ”I’m good. The same old, the same old. How are _you_? Don’t look too good.”

”Thanks, mother,” Louis deadpans while she drinks from her tea, ”We’ve been out a lot the past two days, so, y’know. It gets rough towards the end,” he waves his hand, ”Otherwise, I’m good. Work’s good, friends are good. Nothing major, really.”

His mother nods, her blue eyes examining him. She does that a lot, has done ever since Louis was just a boy. It has always bothered Louis that she seems to see right through him, but at the same time it has been the greatest blessing in many points of his life, like when he came out of the closet to her, she’d already known for a long time. ”I talked with Alice the other day. She seemed, well, distracted. But she mentioned about your and Harry’s living situation.”

Louis’ chews on the muffin slow down for a beat, their eyes meeting over his coffee mug. He shrugs and swallows the food past the rising lump in his throat. ”Harry wanted to get away from her a bit. I helped when he asked me to, no big deal. And besides, he’s twenty-three already, don’t think it’s such a huge surprise he would want to get away from his mother.”

Vivian raises her perfectly shaped brows at him, her painted nails tapping on the table. ”I see.”

”Just say what you wanna say, mum,” he sighs, leaning his elbows on the surface.

She holds a pause, one filled with meaning. ”I just don’t see how it’s your job, Louis. To interfere.”

”Interfere?” Louis’ asks, incredulous, ”I merely gave the lad a couch to crash on. Alice okayed it, what’s the fuss?”

Vivian’s expression is smooth and calm and sometimes Louis has to wonder if it’s really his father he’s inherited all his vividness and short-temper, his impulsiveness. Sometimes he wishes he still had him here to back him up. He bites into his muffin, before he blurts out anything he shouldn’t.

”I love Harry and Alice both. But sometimes it’s easier to detach yourself from people that are toxic,” the woman says then.

Louis knows he’s always been the favourite in the family. His mother’s always been supportive of diversity, but never one to look past fickleness, which Alice is basically the epitome of. She and their mother don’t really get along that well, always at sixes and sevens about a thing or two, even during the holidays they usually spend together. Vivian wasn’t all that supportive of taking Harry in, either, because the truth is that he has family out there, an aunt at least, but she didn’t want to take him in and so he’d stayed with Alice. Vivian had learned to love Harry, like everyone else, but Louis always felt like she sort of wanted to keep him separated from their family in minor things. Like with the last name. When Alice had changed hers back to Tomlinson after Colin had passed away, Vivian had told her to not even try and pursue the thought about somehow adopting Harry and changing his last name as well.

Louis supposes he should be thankful for her mother’s hesitancy, because that had always been the thing that had kept him from calling Harry his nephew in front of other relatives or new friends. It had always been ’my best friend Harry’ rather than a nephew. And Harry had been taught the same. They were family, but not related, that was the message they got when they were still just little boys. Unless it was somehow beneficial for the women in the family to appeal to them being related. That happened, sometimes, Louis remembers.

”You do realize you’re calling my best friend toxic, yeah?” his tone’s colder now, ”I don’t care about Alice, she’s ruining her life on her own. But I won’t let Harry get dragged down with her, am I? He’s family.”

”More so than your own sister?” There’s a bite to Vivian’s voice, something sharp and invasive.

Louis almost flinches, but controls himself and leans closer to her over the table. ”We both know she’s never been much of a sister. She’s twelve years older than me, for crying out loud. Harry’s the closest thing to a family I’ve got down in London.”

Vivian blinks, neutral, save for the dry smile on her lipstick coated mouth. ”As you say,” she purses her lips, ”Just keep this in mind, Louis. He’s not the best company, not for you.”

The words hang between them, heavy and loaded with things Louis doesn’t want to discuss. And by the sound of it, neither does his mother. It’s moments like these, when Louis remembers why exactly did he move away from home at such a young age. Despite loving his mother and father a lot, there are loads of things they don’t see eye to eye about and one of those things has always been his and Harry’s relationship. Louis has never budged and he won’t now.

”This is pointless,” he leans back in his chair and drinks some of his coffee, ”Let’s change the subject. I didn’t come all the way here to argue.”

The subject changes and Louis endures it for another forty minutes before he’s calling the lads to come and pick him up so that they can’t start their drive back to London. He hugs his mother goodbye with a promise to show up at Christmas, before he hops into Stan’s car and tucks himself in the backseat and under Zayn’s arm. The clock will be past eleven already when they’re back in London and Louis has to catch some sleep the coming night if he’s going to make it to work on Monday at one p.m. Still, he opts to try and sleep on the drive back, still weary from the last 48 hours and unwilling to let his mother’s words get to him. Zayn pulls him close and the low music coming from the speakers, along with the rise and fall of his friend’s chest lulls him to a fitful sleep.

*

The first thing Louis sees when he closes the door behind him is Harry sprawled in the middle of the floor. He’s got a black t-shirt and briefs matching the colour on, his eyes closed and ears covered with headphones. The TV’s on in the background, but it’s muted, only providing some light into the otherwise dark flat. Louis can smell food, something like lasagna, but even though he’s hungry, his attention is first and foremost on the man lying on the floor.

Louis puts his duffel bag down and toes off his Vans, hanging his coat on the rack. For a beat he just stares at Harry, the other breathing peacefully, almost as if he were asleep, but Louis knows he’s not. The rhythm his chest rises and falls in is too fast and his breaths more shallow than they are when he’s sleeping. The older takes a few steps closer, until he’s standing right next to Harry.

He crouches down and toys with the idea of brutally attacking the man with tickles, but in the end opts not to, knowing he’d probably earn a day or two of silent treatment from it. Instead he sits down next to Harry, his knees pulled to his chest, and nudges the younger’s ribs with his toes gently. Harry’s eyes fly open and his hand grabs Louis’ foot in haste, the expression on his face resembling that of a terrified bunny. A loud sigh falls from the man’s lips as soon as he spots Louis’ smiling face and his grip on the older’s foot eases.

”Thanks for the scare, asshole,” Harry mutters as he pulls the headphones away from his ears and places them on the floor.

Louis smirks at him, not apologetic one bit, and splays his left palm on the taller’s stomach. Harry’s eyes follow the movement, the crease in his brows easing when Louis strokes the material of his t-shirt, his eyes on the younger’s face. ”How was it? Being alone in the flat.”

Harry shrugs, meeting Louis’ gaze. ”A little lonely, if I’m honest. Kept thinking what you were doing, though I did see Ed yesterday.”

”Why didn’t you call then? I told you, you can.”

A flash of something passes on the younger’s face then, something Louis doesn’t quite catch, because Harry’s rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, before stretching his arms above his head. His abs flex under Louis’ touch, the rippling muscles sending a pleasing shiver through the older.

”I didn’t have to,” Harry says, pushing himself up to a sitting position, bringing their faces closer, both sitting next to each other now with their feet pointing in opposite directions, ”I saw Stan’s Instagram stories. Got plenty of material.”

Flashing memories of the club lights and the men surrounding him, their hot bodies and the shots they’d poured down his throat invade Louis’ mind temporarily. He looks down, clearing his throat before meeting Harry’s relatively blank eyes. ”Yeah, uh. It got wild. We had fun.”

”I saw,” the younger nods, still revealing nothing of his mood, ”You were high as a kite. That means you were laughing, but also that you were horny as fuck. So, I assume you had even more fun when the cameras weren’t rolling.”

There is a moment where Louis thinks he might panic. A moment where he thinks he doesn’t know which thing to address first. The fact that Harry had been so keenly following their trip through his friends’ Instagram stories or perhaps that his tone is suddenly accusing when he’s talking about Louis having casual sex. He opts for option number three.

”You know I get horny while high?” his voice pitches embarrassingly, but Harry doesn’t seem to care.

”Was it a secret?” he deadpans. ”You’ve sported a hard-on every single time we’ve smoked together. So, either it’s the weed or..”

Harry’s eyes round. ”It’s the weed,” Louis easily says, his eyes squinting, ”Don’t give yourself that much credit, Styles.”

The younger relaxes again, but with it comes back the slightly accusatory tone. ”So you had sex.”

Louis scoffs and lets go of his knees to straighten them out, avoiding his legs going numb. ”What of it? I’ve been trying to have sex for quite some time now, as you full-well know.”

”You could have sex any time you want, Louis,” Harry simply states, his stare unwavering on Louis.

All the work from the weekend goes down the drain in a second and a half. All the sex he had, none of it matters when Harry’s looking at him like that, offering something three weeks ago Louis thought would be possible in his wildest dreams only. His fingers curl in on the carpet, his eyes flitting between Harry’s burning ones.

”Are you jealous?” Is what comes out of his mouth first, his voice strange to his own ears.

Harry’s straining his jaw and his lashes flutter, the first sign of feelings on his face in minutes. ”I don’t know,” he says with a dismissive shrug, ”Does it matter?”

”Well, I’d say it does if you’re gonna get all moody on me every time I fuck a lad or two,” Louis frowns.

”I’m not.”

”You are now, though,” the older points out, ”You’re moody.”

A deep sigh sounds in the room as Harry finally turns his burning gaze elsewhere, his head falling backwards and his hands leaning on the floor behind his back. ”Yeah. I don’t know why though.”

This is one of those times they talk about something they both want to avoid talking about. It’s evasive and never gets to the point – they’ve had plenty of these talks. About bad relationships that they should get out of, about their respective families that seem to be fucked up in more ways than one, about anything that is even remotely uncomfortable for either one of them. They try to talk about it, is what Louis always consoles himself with later on when the same issue is pressing on them again after a month or two. This is one of those things, one of those talks. He knows he’s not willing to push the answer out of Harry, even though he probably should, and he knows Harry won’t tell and won’t expect Louis to pressure.

”Don’t be moody about it,” the older says, his fallen left hand slipping under Harry’s t-shirt to scratch over the man’s navel and the skin over his lower ribs. Harry turns to look at him, his greens a little bit more alive. ”Doesn’t suit your pretty face,” Louis mumbles, his lips tugging into a smile.

”Oh, is that all I am to you?” Harry’s voice is teasing, ”A pretty face and a helping hand?”

Louis’ palm splays on the younger’s stomach then, his thumb caressing there with slight pressure. ”Not even remotely,” he says, voice grave, ”You’re also my cleaner and cook.”

At that the older scrambles up and disappears into the kitchen with a cheeky smile thrown in Harry’s way. He spots the lasagna on the cold stove and eagerly picks up a plate to fix himself a portion, his stomach rumbling with its emptiness. Louis heats the food and pours himself a glass of water as Harry finally follows him to the kitchen, leaning himself against the counter a feet away from Louis. They don’t speak anything while the smaller man removes his plate from the microwave and seats himself around the table.

Harry remains standing, his eyes watching every move Louis makes with such interest one would think the younger’s never seen anyone shovel food into their mouth. The older doesn’t ask, much too invested in filling his stomach and then slipping under the covers to sleep off the heaviness and the lingering effects of weed in his system. Harry doesn’t move before Louis is washing his dishes, both hands covered in bubbly soap and eyes drooping as the warm water calms him.

That’s when the younger’s arms circle around his waist and his chin hooks over Louis’ shoulder, his lips so close to the smaller’s neck that he can feel Harry breathing. ”I missed you,” the taller says in a low voice.

Louis places the plate and the glass on the drying rack and dries his hands, humming quietly. He turns around in Harry’s arms, the younger leaning back just enough for him to fit between the broad chest and the arms wrapped around him. ”Missed you too.”

”Can I sleep with you tonight?” Thumbs press in Louis’ lower back.

”Yeah, sure,” he nods, patting Harry’s pecs with his open palms twice, ”Let’s go then. I’m beat.”

As the older’s trying to step away, the grip around him tightens a fraction and Harry’s emeralds pin him in place. Louis can feel their stomachs pressed together and it’s taking everything in him to not make this sexual, not make this something it doesn’t have to be. Harry’s earnest eyes are locking with his, however, and the stemmed feelings crash through the dam with a force that makes his poor heart stutter.

The man looks young in front of him. He looks young and innocent, his big eyes gazing down at the older, but his body is as far away from innocent as humanly possible. It’s easy to be attracted to a man like Harry, even Zayn has said so several times, but it’s not just his body Louis wants. Fooling around with the man, that has been risky since moment one and Louis knows this, but it’s still overwhelming when his love for Harry collides with the lust first time in so long. He’s been doing so good at keeping the love at bay for years now, he thinks his legs might give out if it weren’t for the grounding touch of Harry’s arms linked around him.

”Why won’t you have sex with me?” Harry asks, quiet and honest.

Louis finally rips his eyes away from the other and pushes his fringe back to hide the slight tremor in his hand. ”Harry,” he starts, already able to see the offence in his friend’s eyes, ”That is in no way a good idea. This whole thing is risky as it is, I don’t think we should push it.”

Harry leans back the tiniest bit, his eyes searching. ”Risky? Why is this risky?”

The older scoffs. ”You’re not serious, are you?” Louis shakes his head, incredulous. ”You’re dating still, right?”

”Sort of,” Harry averts his gaze, ”It’s complicated. But not a problem.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwing shut. He’s going to have a headache from all this direct talk. ”I don’t consider it my business if you’re cheating on your boyfriend,” he says, slowly to emphasize every word, ”Maybe I should, I don’t want to be the one to break you two up. But I have a feeling it’s got nothing to do with me if that happens. So I’m staying out of it.”

The younger nods and quietly says ’ _good’_. ”But humour me for a while here,” Louis then says, tilting his head to capture Harry’s eyes and hums in a way that no doubt tells Harry this isn’t going to be entertaining for either one of them, ”Say, Alice finds out. Walks in with you sucking my cock. How do you think, Harry, she will react? Pat us on the back and tell us how nice it is that we’re looking out for each other?”

Louis knows he’s being unnecessarily harsh with his condescending tone and words, but this is something he’s had time to play around with in his head for a while now. It’s a serious concern for him and even more so for Harry. The younger recoils, his arms falling away from Louis’ body, but he stays close.

”Alice isn’t my mother,” Harry states, his tone definite in a way, ”She was my legal guardian until the age of eighteen, I call her ’mom’ because that was easier for me to understand as a four-year-old than what she really was for me and it stuck.”

The older’s teeth grit as he holds the stare. ”That doesn’t make this any less weird for her, Harry.”

”What does it matter?” Harry interrupts him, his voice a notch louder. ”It’s not like I’m fucking her boyfriend. You don’t even like her, Louis.”

”I do like her,” the older claims as he tugs at the ends of his hair, a frustrated noise escaping his mouth. ”And that’s not the point. Doesn’t this feel wrong to you? On a theoretical level, at least. We’re supposed to be uncle and nephew.”

Harry scoffs and turns his back to Louis, his hands resting on his hips. Louis takes a hold of the sink behind him as his heart beats away in his chest, loudly reminding the older why they never talk about these things directly. This is the closest he’s ever been to discussing actual feelings with Harry and that’s dangerous. Demands for precision, like threading a needle.

”We’re supposed to,” Harry repeats, turning back around, ”Why don’t _you_ humour me now, huh?” he takes a step closer, his expression determined and serious, ”Where does it say that we share the same blood? Where does it say that Alice is my mother? Show me a document that states she’s my birth mother _or_ my adoptive mother.”

Louis stays silent, his fingers gripping the sink tighter. Harry steps closer again. ”That’s right, Louis. You can’t. Because she’s neither of those things. And that means you are not my uncle. You’re my _friend_ , my best mate, for crying out loud,” he throws his hands in the air, now more desperate.

”I’m tired of playing house with you guys,” the younger quips, his brows knitting together. ”We both know I’m not a Tomlinson. Your mother knows it. Alice knows it. I’m grateful for your sister, for taking me in and raising me when I had no one. But I never asked to be her son and she never asked to be my mother. We have an understanding, Louis. You’re the only one who doesn’t get that,” he shakes his head, his voice going a tad softer, ”We’re family. But we’re not related.”

Silence falls upon the room, surrounding them like the humid summer air of London. Little does Harry know he’s just managed to shake the foundation of Louis’ little life, the one the man had spent years and years strengthening, building his thoughts and beliefs on it. He’d labelled Harry as his nephew a long time ago, even though the younger is right about him not being a part of the Tomlinsons. Both Vivian and Alice had made that very clear in the beginning, though Louis didn’t understand it back then, why that was. He’d only started viewing Harry as his nephew when he realized his feelings weren’t platonic anymore. He felt wrong, ashamed, because the boy was four years younger than him, someone he’d grown up around. He’d made it his truth and now Harry’s the one denying him that truth.

”Why do you want to sleep with me so bad?” Louis’ voice is a little unsteady, unbelieving.

Harry laughs out at the words, his hands gripping Louis’ hips to pull the older against his chest. He hooks his chin on Louis’ shoulder again and his little curls tickle the smaller’s cheek as he quietly speaks into his ear. ”It’s not about that, Louis. The bottom line is that I’m tired of being controlled by this thing,” Louis can feel him exhaling deeply. ”Tired of Alice using that title of ’mother’ to control my choices. Tired of Viv telling me I should listen to my mother. You’ve just fallen to that category during the past few years as well, for some reason. You use that nephew thing to somehow push me away. I’m so sick of it.”

The younger’s big palms are squeezing Louis’ hips, the touch and the words sending involuntary shivers up the older’s spine. Louis feels like these kind of conversations shouldn’t happen on a day when he’s just spent a weekend smoking and drinking, his mind slow and jumbled from the substances, but he doesn’t get a say. He never does when it comes to Harry. A tiny breath shudders out of him and his forehead falls on Harry’s shoulder as he wills for everything to just stop spinning for a moment.

Louis reminds himself of the facts to avoid the nasty, panicky feeling he sometimes gets when he’s been drinking for too many days in a row. Fact number one is that he’s breathing still and that he doesn’t have to make any life-altering changes to his view of life now, he can postpone it until he’s coherent enough. Fact number two is that Harry’s simply saying he feels like Louis has become detached from him and that it bothers him. Fact number three is that Harry’s tired of people making him be someone he’s not, just to use it against him.

”I’m sorry,” the older admits and places his palm on Harry’s stomach, thumb stroking the fabric of his t-shirt, ”I know you hate it when they do that to you. Make you part of our name just to benefit from it. I don’t want to do that.”

”You don’t,” Harry pulls away enough to lock gazes with Louis, ”But you _do_ push me away with it. Like with the touching thing,” the younger slips his hand under Louis’ shirt, to the dip of his back for emphasis, ”You started avoiding every unnecessary touch and called me your nephew for the first time, like, five years ago. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Louis chuckles, but it’s void of humour. ”Why didn’t you say anything?”

The taller raises his brows. ”Are you kidding? You’d have run for the hills. We don’t do this. Talking,” Harry seems a little amused, but the set of his brows reveals that this has actually bothered him for a long time.

”True,” Louis nods, ”It’s terrifying. Even now.”

A small smirk climbs on Harry’s lips as he scoots his hand further down and past the waistband of both Louis’ jeans and his briefs, to cup his bare arse. ”Do you still think this is wrong? Now that we’ve talked.”

The older dabs his friend right under his ribs, but Harry doesn’t move away, merely laughs out with his eyes crinkling and squirms momentarily. ”I don’t know what I’m supposed to think,” Louis says, his tone light, ”I made it wrong in my head years ago.”

”Why?” Harry inquires, his other hand sliding next to the one cradling Louis’ arse cheek, now fully covering the older’s bum.

The smaller raises his brows at the action, but continues nonetheless. ”Because of mum. She used the uncle card on me just like Alice uses the son card on you. Think she was worried about how close we were,” Louis’ words are carefully said and he adds, ”Ridiculous.”

It takes a second for Harry to react, to hum and nod. ”Can we establish this once and for all then? ’m not your nephew. You’re not ma uncle,” green meets blue and Louis nods, Harry continuing, ”If anyone asks, we’re family.”

A tired smile tugs at the right corner of the older’s lips as he nods again, pressing his thumb against Harry’s abs more firmly while simultaneously pushing away all the roaring thoughts about _love_ and _future_ and anything even remotely connected to the delicately weaved web of lies and feelings that have to do with how Louis sees Harry – or how he saw him up until just a few minutes ago. ”Sleep now?”

Harry’s bright smile morphs into a more subtle one as he leans close to Louis’ ear while squeezing his arse deliciously. ”Will you let me fuck you someday?” His whispering voice is low and intimate and Louis definitely wants to run for the hills.

He swallows past the lump in his throat instead and lightly punches Harry’s stomach with his knuckles. ”As if,” he says then, voice even, ”It’ll be me fucking you, curly.”

The hands on his arse jerk him closer and his jaw hits the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder in a way that can’t be anything but painful. Louis can’t help the laugh when the younger whines, his lips pressed to the smaller man’s shoulder. ”You drive me mad sometimes, I swear to God.”

_You don’t even know what you’re talking about_ , Louis thinks to himself before pulling completely away from the other man. He smirks at Harry and pats his cheek in a patronizing manner, before wishing him a goodnight and ducking out of the kitchen. He barely makes it to the bedroom when a distinctly larger body collides with his back and he’s being picked up from the floor with two strong arms around his waist.

Louis doesn’t find the strength to decline a blowjob, doesn’t find the words to tell Harry how much he wants his lips around him, but how much he needs not to get addicted. He falls asleep with the taller wrapped inside his arms while a little voice in his head sing songs about how addicted is the understatement of the year and how he should get his head out of his arse and realize how fucked up he actually is. Louis refuses to listen to it.

–

It’s an accident when it happens. It’s an accident on Louis’ side, that is.

Sort of.

A week or so after the trip Louis has had near-death experiences more than should be possible in a span of six days. He’s come home from work to find a naked Harry – naked, _fully prepped_ Harry lying on his bed with legs spread open and cheeks flushed pink, eyes pleading and hungry. He’s gone to meet his friends, leaving behind a lean, tall man wrapped only in an apron while baking cupcakes, shit eating grin on his full lips and then he’s come back to find the same man only in his boxer briefs, bare chest covered in flour and cupcake icing. Every single time, his heart’s stopped beating for a minute, Louis swears.

It’s a fun game, teasing, and keeps him on the edge. Well, it _would_ be a fun game if Louis actually had the intention to fuck Harry at some point, which, he doesn’t. Despite the talk from that night, he doesn’t want to risk what they have. There’s only a handful of people out there who have been able to keep up a friends with benefits arrangement without letting feelings get involved. Not to mention, not one of those couples are as close as Louis and Harry or have the other party already fallen head over heels for the other one.

Harry’s very determined, though. He’s cut Louis off. Like, completely off. No blowjobs, no hand-jobs, just the occasional night cuddle where hands stay strictly above the waist. Needless to say, Louis is tearing his hair apart by now with trying to keep his hands to himself. He’s even considered going to stay at Zayn’s, but then he’d have to explain the situation to his best friend and that is not happening.

It’s been a week now and this morning Louis saw his chance to ease his pain. Harry’s school is kicking off again next week and he’s decided to catch up with his school friends, a group of them had come back from inter-railing just a few days ago. Even though the older had feigned to have no interest in what the other man was saying, he’d carefully listened to every word about what time the younger would be heading out and when was he due back. As soon as Harry had stepped in the shower, Louis had shot Zack a message to come to his place after one, along with some eggplant and water drop emojis. He got a tongue-showing one and the peach emoji back.

And Louis had been successful at keeping his restlessness hidden for two whole hours now, watching TV or reading a book he’ll never finish, but when the clock’s sixteen past one and Harry’s still not out the door, the older gets up from the couch to check on him in the kitchen. ”Aren’t you gonna be late?”

Harry lifts his eyes from where he’s packing up the cupcakes in a container. ”A little,” he nods, ”But I know they’re gonna bring some pressies from the trip. I want to give something, too.”

Louis would absolutely find that endearing if he weren’t so worried. He glances at the clock on the wall, slowly inching forward. ”Okay. Cool,” he then says, slipping out of the room to sit down on the couch again.

There is no way that Harry won’t run into Zack if he doesn’t step out right this moment. Louis sends Zack a heads up message, telling him that there’s a small chance they’ll have to go to the older’s flat after all. Harry walks out of the kitchen then, the container in his hand as he walks past Louis, giving the older a bemused look.

”You’re acting weird,” the taller notes and places the cupcakes on the bureau before pulling on his Chelsea boots.

He doesn’t get a reply, a knock on the door cutting off any weak excuse Louis was about to blurt out. Instead he just presses his eyes shut for the second it takes Harry to reach out and pull the door open. Zack seems surprised to see Harry, but it’s nothing compared to the half incredulous, half horrified look the younger throws Louis’ way. Somehow Louis is frozen in his seat, left there to watch it all unfold with terror and desperation gnawing at his insides – _he was supposed to get off today_ , his mind wistfully wails.

”Hi,” Zack says, his eyes flitting between the two men as he waves at Louis’ way. The older waves back, his expression already resigned and somber in the childlike way.

Harry’s body is facing Zack, but he turns around while still holding onto the door, to pin Louis in place with his piercing green eyes. Louis can see how the man’s knuckles are white where they’re clutching on the door. ”Seriously?” The younger demands, his tone not mad precisely, but rather thrown off, like he’d never have seen this coming. And a little bit mad, too.

Louis gets a grip on himself, then, and spreads his arms on the backrest of the couch while having to bend his head in an awkward angle to maintain eye contact. A small smirk ebbs on his lips as he raises his brows. ”What?”

Something dark and heavy clouds Harry’s eyes and his jaw strains. The look pierces through the older’s demeanor like a laser, heat pooling in his lower stomach and his heart stuttering with tension, the air around them suddenly far away from easy and playful. The smaller man’s eyes flick to Zack, who now seems confused and little baffled, but he isn’t asking anything. Louis can tell he’s wondering if he should step in or walk away, his body swaying a little, but he’s not moving either.

A sharp inhale sounds from Harry, before he speaks three simple, impatient words to Louis that make the older want to jump out of the window. ”Oh, _fuck_ me.”

Louis is left gaping as his roommate turns to face Zack again, rising to his full height. ”Sorry mate, but it’s not happening today. See you.”

The door shuts in front of the man’s face and Louis protests from the couch. ”Oi, he’s my guest!”

Harry doesn’t even react to his words, simply kicks off his Chelsea's and stalks into the living room, in front of Louis. He bends down, both hands braced on the backrest, caging the older in like a bird. Lust, determination and desperation are all over Harry’s face as he leans closer, their noses almost touching. ”I’m done playing games,” he nearly growls, every single visceral inside Louis jumping in excitement.

For a second the older thinks Harry might kiss him, his lips hovering close, but then he’s pulling away and sprinting in the bedroom, leaving Louis on the couch already breathing heavy and straining against the fly of his jeans. _This isn’t happening_ , Louis chants in his mind, trying to will down some of the hot, quick blood pumping in his veins, but it’s in vain. He’s been desperate for this for so long and now he’s spent a week without touch, without _Harry’s_ touch, his body’s already cut all ties with his brain – his poor little brain, trying to squeak some sense into Louis, but being smothered by the sight of Harry striding to him, throwing a bottle of lube and a condom on the couch next to the older. His heart somersaults and his dick throbs.

Harry leans closer, his fingers already gripping the hem of his t-shirt, ready to strip it off. ”I want this. And I want it dirty and fast,” his voice is lower than Louis has ever heard it, his dark, green eyes glazed over, ”D’you want me?”

It takes several seconds for Louis to make his mouth work, to get the drought to disappear from his tongue and to let the air flow out of him more freely. ”Yeah,” he breathes, eyes locking with Harry’s, ”Yeah, c’mon.” Louis pats his thighs with both palms.

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He discards his shirt and jeans along with his striped socks that suddenly don’t look all that cute to Louis anymore, before pulling off the older’s jeans as well. Louis has to command his arms to work to manage the shirt over his head and on the floor, and then Harry’s sitting on his lap with only his boxer briefs on, hard cock rubbing against Louis’. The contact is numbed by the fabric between them, but after a week it feels like heaven and Louis’ hands grip the younger’s arse tightly, pulling Harry closer.

It’s still a wordless agreement between the two that kissing isn’t a thing they do, so instead of attaching their lips, Harry mouths on the older’s neck, his sharp teeth biting and his lithe tongue licking the sore skin. Louis’ hands wander under the waistband of the man’s briefs, cupping both arse cheeks in his hands and squeezes. He moans low when Harry tugs at his hair, pulling his head to the side to have better access.

Touching Harry’s burning skin is something Louis has gradually gotten used to. He knows the man’s sweet spots, knows how tender his nipples are and how he likes to be bitten all over his chest and neck. But never, not once did he realize that Harry had gotten used to his curves and edges as well. Skillfully the younger’s fingers tread his locks and breathes hotly against Louis’ collarbone where he’s sucking a deep purple mark, his hips swiveling against the older’s.

It feels good and right, teasing in a torturous way and it brings back memories from their first times together, how that small contact had been enough to drive Louis crazy and over the edge. It still drives him crazy, but he needs more. He needs more, because he can physically _feel_ how much Harry _wants_ more and it’s like– with every touch of his lips Harry’s transferring that need, that desire in Louis, the feeling seeping in the older’s veins, crawling towards his cock pressed between their bodies.

”Not enough,” Harry groans as if on cue, detaching his mouth from Louis with one last bite, before he’s sliding off the older.

Louis wants to whine and demand the man to come back, sans clothing this time, but he doesn’t even manage a word, before Harry’s fumbling with his briefs, the piece of clothing ending up somewhere at the foot of the couch. He stands before Louis, naked and all fair skin. The older wants to touch, but he can’t because then Harry’s picking up the bottle of lube and turning around.

”What..”

The thud of his heart in his chest is the only thing that even somehow makes sense at the moment, as Louis locks eyes with Harry, who’s looking at him over his shoulder, lashes fluttering and cheeks rosy. ”You’re gonna love me,” the younger murmurs.

The air catches in Louis’ throat as Harry bends over the couch table, his arse perched high, proudly presented in front of the older. The taller man widens his stance enough for Louis to see how his cheek is pressed against the cool glass of the table, his breath fogging the surface as he lubes up his fingers and discards the bottle. Louis can feel the muscles on his abdomen tightening, excited jolts skipping from one nerve ending to another when Harry brings his long, beautiful digits to circle his hole, the lube making his skin glisten.

Without much thought, the older pushes his already wet-patched briefs down his legs and wraps his own, much shorter fingers around his cock, gently tugging. Harry’s teasing himself, his index finger disappearing past the rim just a tiny bit, before pulling out again and repeating the motion. Louis’ eyes are trained on the pink skin around the younger’s hole, mesmerized by the way Harry’s finger disappears from view fully, sucked between his cheeks.

A low, but quiet moan falls past the older’s lips and he gives himself a couple faster tugs, taking in Harry’s half-lidded eyes and the slight tremble of his legs. Splayed in front of Louis, the younger looks sinful and desperate. He’s putting on a show for Louis and he’s not one bit ashamed. Something heavy and strong, demanding, rises in Louis’ chest as Harry dips in another finger. His lips pressed against the surface of the couch table and a beautiful whine crawls its way out of him, his eyes screwing shut.

The way Harry’s hole is stretching around his fingers looks delicious, looks inviting and Louis’ cock twitches at the mere idea of being buried inside there. Fog spreads in the older’s head in a rapid speed, all caution thrown out of the window as he scoots forward on the couch to grab Harry’s waist tightly. The younger’s hips buck backwards automatically, meeting Louis’ tongue halfway. He doesn’t think it through – he doesn’t think about it at all, when he laps at the skin around Harry’s hole, his tongue darting in between the younger’s slick fingers as a chant of moans sounds from Harry.

Louis grows more impatient by the second, his hands tightly pressing on the taller’s surprisingly soft sides and his mouth licking and kissing Harry’s arse and his fingers. He only pulls away to push his own pointer finger past his lips, wetting it with saliva and then pushes it past the younger’s rim to accompany the other two fingers. Louis marvels at the stretch, the way Harry’s thighs tremble and his hole clenches, sucking their digits further in. The smaller scoots back on the soft furniture just to see the other man’s face, eyes barely open and lips agape, saliva leaking out of his mouth to pool on the table. Louis’ cock throbs at the sight and to make it even worse for himself, Louis crooks his finger inside Harry.

The guttural moan that follows tells Louis he’s hit the jackpot. He doesn’t even wait for Harry to get used to the sensation, but crooks his finger again and again, eyes glued to the way his nephew’s coming apart bit by bit. Louis could do this all day. He could watch him bend over the table, hair a mess, chest flushed in bright pink and body shivering while taking in three fingers, all day.

Harry seems to have something else in mind, the boy is determined if anything. ”I’m ready,” he croaks and with much effort pushes his torso up.

Louis’ finger falls out of him along with Harry’s, but his left hand is still holding onto the taller’s hip, aiding him to turn around and face the older. It’s not the first time Louis has seen Harry naked and hard, but it is the first time he’s seen Harry leaking, precome dripping down his painfully red cock towards the dark hair on his groin. He looks edible and a high-pitched moan actually leaves the older’s mouth.

With both hands Louis pulls Harry down on his lap, their cocks brushing together, sending involuntary shivers right down Louis’ spine. He strokes the younger’s sides as their eyes lock, lusty and dark. ”You good riding me?” Louis asks, hands travelling down to Harry’s slightly trembling thighs to squeeze.

Green, round and glassy eyes stare at him and red-bitten lips glistening with saliva fall agape just below them as Harry nods and breathes out a heady _yes_. Louis picks up the condom and easily tears the package open with his teeth, discarding it somewhere on the couch. For a split second he entertains the thought of asking Harry to do it for him, roll on the rubber, but the way the younger looks perched on his lap, flushed and completely ready to go, makes him quickly work it on himself.

Louis barely has the chance to take hold of Harry’s hips, when the taller’s already picked up the bottle from the floor and lubing up Louis’ cock and positioning it at his rim. Harry’s looking down at him when he gently eases the tip inside him and Louis can see each and every little change in his expression; pinched eyebrows, teeth biting down on his lower lip, eyes glimmering and moist with how fast he’s sinking down. And Louis doesn’t know if he’s even breathing himself, because here is Harry, on him, left hand squeezing his shoulder and hole sucking Louis’ cock in like it’s nothing. Except it is.

It’s heavenly, it’s tight and warm and new – it’s Harry. Louis doesn’t dare to let out any air before Harry’s buried to the hilt, his arse cheeks touching the skin of the older’s thighs and his both arms wrapped around Louis’ neck while the older’s nails are digging to Harry’s sides. As Harry licks his lips and experimentally rolls his hips, a shock of pleasure shoots right through Louis, his hands’ hold tightening.

”You’re so spoiled,” the older says on a breathy laugh, gently bucking his hips upwards, nudging the soft walls of the other’s hole.

Harry whines and laughs on the same inhale as he lifts his hips and sinks down with one go. The slide is easy, but it’s fast and punches a whiny groan out of Louis. Harry doesn’t grant him a moment, but repeats his actions, both hands moving to hold onto his shoulders for support. The man on his lap looks wrecked and divine all the same: his hair is tousled, his cheeks pink and eyes hued and he’s biting down on his lip so hard it might bleed any second now. He’s tight around Louis, warm and wet and he’s rough, having no mercy on the older as he keeps picking up his pace.

Every time Harry sinks down on Louis, he does it more sloppily and just as desperately. The older’s thumbs are pressed right above the bones on Harry’s hips, nails digging in and leaving marks behind. Louis doesn’t ease his grip, just holds on tighter and starts pushing his hips up to meet Harry’s arse halfway, his thrusts more shallow than in the beginning. They’re both sweating and Louis can feel his fingers starting to slip, heat coating his neck and chest, but he can’t stop now, Harry pulsing around his cock and his own stomach doing somersaults.

The various noises falling from Harry’s lips are frantic and pure music to Louis’ ears as he grunts with each thrust, each time his tip hits the spot inside Harry that makes the man keen high and shameless. The muscles in his abdomen start to coil as he keeps his eyes on the younger’s leaking cock, still untouched, begging for attention. Louis releases his right hand from Harry’s side, leaving behind angry nail marks, and wraps his fingers around Harry’s burning erection.

Their eyes lock, Louis tilting his head up to see the sensory overload that takes up Harry’s body and mind when his palm makes contact with the man’s cock. A shaky, long cry fills the air around them, the younger’s thighs quivering with each stroke Louis gives him, but he never stops moving. His hips keep sinking down as Louis half-mindedly meets them with his own, eyes caught on the column of the man’s neck, drops of sweat travelling down his perfectly shaped body all the way to the hair on his groin.

Harry’s not coherent by any means anymore, the rhythm of his hips uneven and shallow, but he still seeks out Louis’ gaze and presses his palms against each side of the older’s neck, mouthing around his name. ”Fuck,” he gasps as the smaller man dips the tip of his thumb in his slit and spreads the pre-come over his head.

There’s something about the way Harry looks at him that ignites a new kind of a flame inside Louis. It’s more persistent and urgent than before and makes Louis wrap his arm around the taller’s back and scoot closer to the edge of the couch to gain some leverage. Harry eases his hand from Louis’ shoulder and wraps it around himself, reading into the older’s actions and providing Louis to curl his other arm around the man as well.

”Ready to come, babe?” the smaller pants, eyes flitting between Harry’s green ones.

He gets a low and broken moan in response and then Harry’s hand is stroking his cock fast and hard. Louis doesn’t need any more encouragement, his grip iron tight around Harry’s middle as he starts thrusting up with short and precise movements. His hands slide further down on the younger’s back, the sweat making their skins slick, but Louis doesn’t relent with his pace. He mouths on Harry’s right nipple, teeth grazing the nub and tongue licking out to soothe the spot.

Harry’s groaning and whining turns louder and Louis feels him clench around his cock when stripes of come paint his and the taller’s chests and reach all the way to their necks. The hot, sticky liquid along with the pulsing hotness he’s engulfed in makes pleasure ripple through him, along his spine and arms and the tensing muscles on his bum. It’s like all the tension spurts out of him, in the condom inside Harry with such force Louis only sees white and only smells Harry’s spicy sweat, only tastes the salt of the man’s skin for a moment.

Coming down from the high of an orgasm is always the same: relaxing and warm. But this time there’s a Harry on his lap, there’s Harry’s fingers weaved in his hair and a pair of familiar green specs looking at him in wonder, hazy. It’s so quiet in the room save for their heavy breaths that Louis thinks it should be uncomfortable, but it isn’t. He slowly eases his way out of his hissing friend and falls back on the couch, arms unwinding from the sweaty body atop his.

The younger gets up on his knees, quivering legs and all, and falls right next to Louis, content sigh escaping his lips as he tucks himself close. Louis takes off the condom and ties it up, momentarily placing the lubed up item on the floor, body still too spent to bother himself to drag it up.

”Happy now?” he eventually says after he’s settled back on the couch, Harry’s hot skin touching his.

The mirth in the younger’s eyes is evident, but his smile is genuine and pleased. ”Very. But don’t act like you’re not.”

There’s a finger trailing down Louis’ come covered chest and stomach, Harry turning onto his side, long legs awkwardly dangling off the couch. ”I hope me eating you out was okay,” the older murmurs, eyes rather on Harry’s face than on the finger that the younger’s gaze is following, ”I should’ve asked.”

Harry shakes his head, splaying his palm over the older’s happy trail. ”It was more than okay,” their eyes lock, Harry’s lips tugging upwards.

Something big and bright blooms in Louis’ chest, but he doesn’t give it a thought. Instead he cards his fingers through Harry’s messy hair, lets his hand wander down to pinch his earlobe with his thumb and pointer finger. The green in the taller’s eyes seems more vibrant, but that’s another thing Louis thinks he shouldn’t even be noticing. They’re close to each other, naked and smell like sex and sweat, but Harry still looks like a Greek statue to him.

”Can I kiss you?” The words are out of his mouth before he even thinks them through and before he has the chance to make them into a joke, Harry’s nodding, earnest.

Sex is great and fun. It gets Louis’ body wound up in a pleasant manner, makes his head swim in the fog the way he likes it. But when Harry nods now, his heart’s hammering louder than it ever has during any sexual activity. It’s persistent in his chest and it’s excited and –.

Louis leans in and Harry tilts his head just right for their lips to slot together. Their noses bump slightly and Louis’ neck is straining with the angle, but none of that matters with Harry’s wet, soft lips pressed against his. The older’s hand drifts to the side of Harry’s neck, his thumb gently stroking the line of his jaw as he lets the man turn the kiss into an open-mouthed one. Every little fiber in Louis’ body is screaming with euphoria, every hair on his skin standing up when their tongues mingle together, tasting and teasing, saliva mixing into a sweet flavour.

Harry hums against his mouth, gently nibbling on Louis’ lower lip before pulling away an inch, only to lean back in and give him another close-mouthed, sweet kiss. They separate with a light smacking sound, the noise so pleasant to Louis’ ears he thinks he’s feeling a little dizzy. The two are still hovering close, Harry smiling almost timidly while the older just licks his lips and seeks out the younger’s eyes.

There’s no words, because now he’s gone there. Louis has kicked in the last door he’d initially locked from himself and he’d gone through it with such force, he actually broke it in the process. His heart jumps as Harry’s smile spreads and he gives Louis a peck, corners of his lips still tugging upwards.

”I..” he starts, but there’s absolutely nothing that he could say that would convey how he’s feeling without spilling out the three words he absolutely can’t say.

Harry’s eyes twinkle at him, his canine tooth pressing down on his plump lip as he leans in to rub their noses together in an eskimo kiss. ”Relax. I know what you’re thinking,” the younger mumbles and this time Louis is sure his heart stops.

”You do?” It’s more of a squeak than anything else.

”Yeah,” Harry nods, pulling back enough to properly look Louis in the eyes. He’s more serious now, but his tone isn’t heavy or grave when he speaks. ”I’m not with Will anymore, so this isn’t cheating. I know you’ve been worried about it before, too, and. Well. It’s not something you need to worry about anymore.”

Will? _Oh_.

Louis lets out a small breath and nods, finally managing to put on a smile of some sort. ”Right. Good,” he nods again, eyes flitting away from Harry’s to ease his head back against the couch, neck already hurting, ”That’s what I was worried about.”

Harry lies his head on Louis’ thigh then, but his feet remain on the floor. The position can’t be pleasant. ”It’s not because of this, just so you know,” the man gestures between them, gaze still on Louis.

The older wills his heart to stop running a marathon in his chest, slowly counting down from hundred in his head to keep track of what’s going on around him. ”Well, obviously,” he clears his throat and meets Harry’s emeralds, a less forced smile on his thin lips now.

A moment of silence follows and it’s not awkward or uncomfortable, just one that feels mandatory after something like this. After having sex for the first time, after revealing one’s not dating anymore and after the other realizing how deeply they’re fucked. It’s only been minutes since their lips separated and Louis is already missing Harry’s mouth on his, already missing the intimacy and the touch – and Harry’s still in his lap for crying out loud.

”D’you regret it?” Harry asks and finally lifts his legs on the couch as well, turning on his side so his cheek’s pressed against Louis’ thigh.

The older raises his eyebrows, his fingers weaving through Harry’s hair. ”The sex? No,” he shakes his head.

He realises he’s speaking the truth, despite everything being fucked now. This is a thing Louis has been fighting with years now: unrequited love. He can fuck and kiss Harry all he wants, but no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be able to fuck the love in the man. It’s something Louis feels, not something they share. And now that he’s gone there, now that Louis has decided to be the masochist of the year, there’s nothing to do about it. It’s all him and he can live with that. And once he can’t anymore, he’ll break it off. Whatever this is.

”Was it good?” The younger’s tone is teasing, just a tad, but mostly just curious. Louis’ cock almost gets interested.

He gently tugs at the ends of Harry’s locks, giving the man a pointed look. ” _Yes._ It was good, Harry.”

A bashful smile spreads on the red-bitten lips of his nephew and Louis is overwhelmed with the need to kiss him again. He doesn’t. Louis won’t be the one initiating these things, there has to be something he can still hold on to, even if he’s basically given away a lot more to the devil than just his pinky by now.

”We can do it again, sometime, then?”

Sunlight streams in from the window, shining on Harry’s fair skin and his dark hair, the different shades of brown more pronounced. ”What’s with the questions?” Louis snorts, but doesn’t remove his hand from the messy, slowly curling locks.

Harry shrugs with his right shoulder, still smiling. ”Maybe I’m just chatty after sex.”

”Then no,” Louis shakes his head, his blue eyes twinkling, he’s sure, ”We definitely can’t do this again. I don’t need to hear your rambling any more than strictly necessary.”

”I don’t ramble,” Harry huffs, his fingers prodding at Louis’ side, ”I converse. Talk.”

The older raises his brows, but agrees with a vague noise. ”Should we shower? Weren’t you supposed to meet your friends?”

Two seconds it takes for Harry’s eyes to round and him to scramble up from the couch, gasping, horrified. ” _Fuck,_ ” he screeches, ”I totally forgot. Shit!”

At first Louis feels baffled by the sudden hassle, Harry picking up his jeans to find his phone and cursing when it gets stuck in the pocket, but then he’s just amused, realizing with glee how Harry actually had not thought this all through after all.

”You forgot?” Louis says, his voice faux-surprised as he gets up as well and picks up the used condom from the floor, dangling it between his fingers. ”Oh, my. I wonder how that could’ve happened?”

Harry throws him a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder while his fingers still furiously tap away on the phone. Louis can’t help the smirk forming on his lips as he saunters into the kitchen and throws away the rubber, before walking back to the doorway, leaning his side against the frame. Harry’s still cursing under his breath, texting someone most likely, but he’s flushed as well, beautiful and muscled the way Louis likes him.

”Oh, I know,” the older snaps his fingers, eyes brightening, ”Maybe it had something to do with the way _someone_ bent over the table to put on a show. Just a guess, though,” he muses.

”Alright, smart mouth,” Harry tosses the phone on the couch and strides to Louis, his hand taking a hold of the smaller’s neck, firm but not hurtful, ”How about that shower?”

Arousal licks at Louis’ insides and something akin to lust is written in Harry’s eyes. ”Aren’t you late?”

Harry tilts his head, fingers holding on a tiny bit tighter. ”I never said it’s going to be a long one.”

With a small nod Louis allows Harry to pick him up and circles his legs around the taller man’s middle. He doesn’t say anything about the hands on his bum, doesn’t say anything about the dick poking at his thigh, but he does tug on Harry’s hair rather painfully, just to reveal his throat for a suck.

The shower is more dirty than anything else, but it helps Louis distract himself from Harry’s lips, his own ones wrapped around the younger’s cock.

And that night, Louis wakes up in the middle of it to a slightly drunk Harry slipping behind him in the bed, hugging him close and kissing his neck. All in all, he can’t complain even though the most rational part of him is already engraving a headstone with the words: _Here lies the heart of one fucking stupid man, but please, do walk over it, all over again._

_–_

On Sunday, only two days after Louis effectively finished digging his grave and finally jumped in it, they decide to head out for a picnic, the whole ’gang’ as Niall likes to refer to them. The nickname hasn’t really gotten the support Niall had hoped, but he still keeps pushing it. Louis isn’t sure if he should be impressed or feel sorry for him. Harry keeps insisting the picnic is to celebrate his and Niall’s last day on holiday before they have to start attending classes again, but just as firmly Louis keeps arguing that they have no right to complain – they’ve spent two months lazing around whereas all Liam, Zayn and him only got one soddy week off.

They camp out in Hyde Park despite knowing full-well it’ll be packed with people on such a sunny day, people definitely venturing out with their families to enjoy the rare warm day at the end of August. By the time they’ve stuffed their faces with chicken sandwiches and cheap red wine, there’s plenty of others splayed out on blankets to read or just soak in the sun. Liam had brought a Frisbee with him, (which really, can’t the man be still for _one_ moment) and now they’re tossing it between Harry, Niall and the said sport-enthusiast, leaving Zayn and Louis lounging on their two mismatched blankets.

”Is there something wrong with us?” Zayn asks then, tone un-invested.

Louis arches his brows behind his aviators and shifts on his elbows, his legs spread out in front of him. ”I think the question is whether there’s something about us that _isn’t_ wrong,” he muses, wiggling his toes, ”But just to humour you, I’m going to ask how so?”

He can see Zayn’s lips quirk up where he’s lying on his back, hands tucked under his head and eyes closed. ”Since we’re not running out there. Frolicking around,” add a vague hand-gesture here, ”Like the lads are.”

The older’s eyes drift to their three mates several yards away. Harry’s just throwing the disc towards Liam, only for Niall to run in front of the man to attempt at grabbing the frisbee. It results in both men tumbling down on the grass, Liam squashed under the Irish man, who’s happily clutching the disc in his hands. Louis can hear Liam’s exasperated voice all the way to where he’s seated, his boss going over the rules of the game. Niall doesn’t seem to care.

”What I think,” Louis eventually says, ”is that they look like little ponies on a field. Happy and free and also, very, very stupid.”

Zayn snorts, but doesn’t reply otherwise, indicating the end of the conversation. Louis doesn’t mind one bit, not really, when he can just spend his time looking at one particularly stupid pony-man, jumping up to catch a throw, managing too, but at the same time losing his sunglasses as they fall from where Harry had tucked them on the collar of his t-shirt. Despite being tall, Harry really doesn’t know how to use his limbs, not for the life of him.

As the younger stretches for another throw, a sliver of his skin is revealed where his shirt rides up his stomach, sun shining on it and making it look positively golden. That might also be just Louis. Probably is Louis. As it turns out, it’s quite hard _not_ to think of Harry as an edible thing after the impromptu couch sex, and the worst thing is, that Harry doesn’t seem to mind one bit. He’s made it a thing to catch Louis ogling at his body, made it a thing to be smug about it, too. The older isn’t sure if he dislikes it or if it makes him want to bone Harry even more.

He won’t though, Louis reminds himself, as Harry catches him looking at them and grins at him, before turning back to Niall who’s heavily leaning on his shoulders, feigning exhaustion, Louis is sure. He crosses his feet at the ankles and watches Harry shrug his friend off him, before indicating for Liam to throw the disc again. Yeah, it definitely won’t happen again. Harry nearly stumbles down, his mouth stretching into a wide smile before he starts laughing, loud and unfairly attractive where he’s leaning his hands on his knees. _Right_.

”You’re staring,” Zayn’s slightly drowsy voice cuts through his thoughts like a laser-beam.

”Am not.”

The other man has opened his eyes and is shielding them from the sun with his hand, clearly considering Louis. It should make Louis squirm, but it doesn’t. His own eyes are still glued to Harry, who’s just starting to make his way towards them.

”You’ve got a love bite on your neck,” his best friend notes, easy and casual as if he hadn’t just stamped the letters _guilty_ on Louis’ forehead with red ink.

Louis slaps his hand on the mark, and wow, yes, he actually knows the actual spot on his neck. This makes Zayn laugh silently, before his eyes fall back shut and he drapes an arm over them. ”Not done with this,” he adds more serious.

A tall shadow falls on the older then, and Louis’ hand falls away, his elbow back on the ground to support his weight. ”You’re blocking the sun,” he states bluntly, aiming to kick at Harry, but missing by a foot at least.

The younger’s eyes skim over Louis’ body, stopping every few inches and the older already knows that look, far too familiar with it. He tries to kick at Harry again, but the younger just drops to his knees, before crawling on top of Louis, his thighs caging the smaller in and his bum fitting a little North of Louis’ groin. The man’s grinning as he pushes the aviators up to the older’s hair, exposing his eyes to the harsh sunlight.

Without meaning to, Louis’ gaze flits to Zayn, the man’s eyes barely open – but they’re open. Well then. They’re definitely having a talk. If Harry picks up on the hesitation on Louis’ face, he doesn’t show it, just keeps grinning at the smaller man, bright like the sun.

”Done playing, then?” Louis asks, his brows raised.

Harry’s grin subdues to a smile, a beaming one though, as he hums. ”Got bored. It’s not as fun when you’re not trying to climb on my back.”

”Co-dependent much?” Louis teases, no actual bite behind his words.

”Very much,” Harry nods and pushes the older to lie down. It’s ridiculous how easily Louis goes.

Without another word, Harry falls to his side on the blanket, right next to Louis. He’s blocking Zayn from view, his left leg draped over Louis’ waist and hand lightly fisted in the material of his t-shirt. It’s not so much of a decision as it is an instinct, when the smaller turns to face Harry, their faces some inches apart. It’s not the sun that’s warming Louis anymore, he doesn’t think so.

”Hi,” Harry whispers, intimate and quiet, like a secret shared.

”Mm,” Louis gets out, something clogging his windpipe, something achingly heavy.

In that moment – as in many other moments in the past – Louis wants to close the distance between them and kiss Harry. Because even though the sex had been amazing, mind-blowing and probably the best sex Louis has ever had, it’s not what he’s been desperately craving for the 48 hours since. Harry’s lips pull into a knowing smile, his green eyes twinkling in the sunlight like two emeralds – the best kind.

”What?” he still mumbles, as if he doesn’t know.

Louis has to swallow, his throat and mouth dry suddenly. He itches his left ankle with his right toes before making a non-committal noise. ”’s nothing.”

Harry seems slightly amused, but there’s this flicker in his orbs that tells the older he might be on the same page after all. Which wouldn’t be that weird, not really. Kissing is nice, it’s intimate and makes the other person feel close to you. Harry’s been so adamant about the closeness lately, Louis isn’t surprised he’d want to kiss him again. Not _really_.

Despite Louis’ words, Harry offers him a small smile and just as Niall slumps down between the younger and Zayn, he mouths _’later’_. Louis pulls his aviators down to shield his eyes when Liam sits down as well, at his and Harry’s feet.

”It’s such a nice day. I wonder how Leigh-Anne’s doing at the pub,” Liam speaks, but he doesn’t sound too worried.

”I’m sure she’s fine,” Louis waves his right hand in his general direction, ”It’s not like she’s alone.”

Louis is much too aware of Harry’s face pressing to his neck as him and Liam keep chatting about work-related things and then move on to football when Niall starts complaining about the topic. Harry’s nosing at the skin below Louis’ ear and the older swears he can feel the tip of his tongue dragging a thin, moist line there as well. He doesn’t make a move to push Harry away, never would, and the younger knows this, too. And he’s completely reveling in it.

Eventually Liam sprawls on the blanket as well and the conversation quiets down. Niall’s soft snores reach Louis’ ears as his own eyes start drooping, the warmth of the sun and Harry both getting to him. The younger’s breathing has evened out considerably, but he’s not asleep, his foot rubbing against Louis’ in undefined patterns and his fingers fiddling with the material of the older’s shirt.

With a certain heaviness in his chest, Louis realizes he could get used to this. Could get used to days spent lazing around with these people, with Harry wrapped around him, trading gentle touches as if it were the most logical thing on earth. Which, to Louis, it might be at the moment. But just as well as he knows he’d be more than content having this for the rest of his life, he knows that there’s a certain topic him and Harry have yet to approach. Perhaps Louis wouldn’t even do so now, if it weren’t for a phone call he’d had earlier this morning with his sister.

Alice rarely calls him, his own attempts at staying in touch even more scarce. But she’d called in the morning, seemingly to chit chat about her newest find, Tom, who ’was the one’, according to her. Despite not having the slightest interest in his sister’s love-life (or her life altogether, had a darker part of his brain reminded), that morning Louis almost wanted for her to keep chattering on and on about this perfect new man, fully aware that his abs and the zeroes on his bank account weren’t the prime reason she’d reached out.

Ten minutes into the call, she’d brought up Harry. She’d not asked how he was doing, didn’t ask about how they’d gotten along, merely apologized if the younger man had been a nuisance. Louis had told her he hadn’t, despite the words falling to deaf ears.

”Look,” had Alice said, her tone somewhere between coaxing and commanding, ”You’re literally the only person on earth I can see getting through to his thick skull. Obviously you don’t owe me any favours, but this would be for his best as well.”

Louis’ mouth had turned sour in a heartbeat. ”Pray tell what do you want me to do.”

Alice had overlooked his dry tone altogether. ”He has to give up on that psychology shit, Louis,” her tone had been exasperated, ” _Or_. He needs to get serious about it. One of two ways. Each is fine, as long as he gets a grip.”

In that moment, Louis had seriously considered hanging up and then throwing his phone out of the window on the street, for someone to either steal or drive over. He did neither. ”He has his own mind, you know,” he’d said instead.

”Yes, I know. Believe me,” Alice had huffed, ”But you two have always been,” she’d held an emphasizing pause between her words, ” _Awfully_ close. You could use that.”

The word ’use’ had burned inside Louis even when he’d only thought about it and it was clear he would do no such thing. Despite his sister’s somewhat suggestive wording.

”If you do this, Louis, I’ll let him stay,” there had been a certain edge to her voice, something that signaled she wasn’t entirely sure if she was taking the right path, like she wasn’t utterly convinced she had understood the chemistry between the two men after all, even with her previous statement. ”I’ll tell him it’s okay if he stays with you for the semester at least.”

Louis had been stunned. His own sister had called him to give him an ultimatum. She’d called him in order to convince him to turn Harry’s head, because he had that kind of power over the younger man. It left several questions floating in Louis’ mind, but one thing he was certain about: there was no way Alice could know. Harry and him, they’d only been venturing other things than friendship for mere weeks, there was no way she’d know. And with that in mind, Louis had told her he wouldn’t mess with the pair’s relationship, didn’t consider it his job.

”So, I’ll just tell him he has to come home then,” Alice had said, sourly, a little disappointed maybe.

The thought didn’t sit well with Louis, but he’d shrugged to himself nonetheless. ”If that’s what you deem best. Just remember, though,” he’d added, ”He’s only going to be more rebellious if you keep him in a leash. He’s not someone you can control. Not even legally. He’s twenty-three.”

Alice hadn’t said anything further about the matter, just told Louis he should call their mother, maybe she’d be able to talk some sense into his head. Louis highly doubted that.

That phone call was something Louis didn’t especially want to bring up with Harry, but at the same time it was something that deemed a conversation. Lying next to the man right now, close and content, it seems almost like a crime to interrupt the moment, but at the same time, the faster he gets it over with, the better.

Louis pushes the sunglasses into his hair, before gently nudging the other man. ”H,” he murmurs, his lips pressing on Harry’s forehead, near his hairline.

”Yeah?” Harry sounds much more awake than he looks and feels.

Louis wonders for a few seconds how to approach the topic, but realizes there’s really no other way than to just come out and say it. ”It’s been like, two months now. You living with me,” he starts, his body cataloging every shift in Harry and his movements, ”Alice called. I think she’s gonna tell you to go back home. Live with her.”

Harry removes his face from Louis’ neck, the cool breeze hitting the skin there. Their eyes meet as Harry seems to be studying the older, face revealing no hints of his thoughts. ”Do you want me to go? I will if you do.”

_But I won’t if you don’t_.

It goes unsaid, but it’s loud between them. Easy to touch and see, though not pronounced. Louis finds himself biting down on his lower lip as he rips his gaze away from the man next to him, directing it up to the blue sky. The truth is, Louis really doesn’t want to see Harry go. He can’t even fathom how he’d be able to wake up to an empty bed, how it’d feel not to stub his toe on the corner of Harry’s suitcase that’s still lying on the floor, by Louis’ bed. How he’d feel if he’d come home to a vacant flat, void of any drunken grown-ass men, void of scented candles and just really, void of Harry.

Louis doesn’t want Harry to go, but it doesn’t mean he should tell Harry so. In fact, to preserve whatever resolve he has left, it’d probably be the best if he just told the younger to go. That it would be better for Louis to be alone, that he misses his own space. Instead, he timidly shakes his head and adds, as if in an afterthought: ”I like your cooking.”

The smile that emerges on Harry’s lips is beaming, but also knowing in a way Louis doesn’t want to understand. So, he doesn’t think about it, just lets Harry crowd his space even more and plant a soft kiss to his cheekbone with a quiet, mumbled thank you. It might be the worst thing for Louis’ mental health, but it keeps Harry smiling for the rest of the day and that only makes Louis stick to his decision, stand behind his words.

And the blowjob in the shower doesn’t really make the situation any worse, to be honest.


	4. Chapter 4

_February, 2011_

_Louis isn’t good with silence. He’s never been the one to shut up, not even when the situation definitely called for it. When his mum had separated from his stepdad, Louis had made an awful joke about him being replaced soon enough, which, well. Anyways, Louis isn’t good with situations like these: two people, heavy air and loaded stares._

_Adam’s fidgeting on the other side of the table, biting down on his lower lip – he’s nervous, that much is obvious. And despite not having the faintest clue of why he’d appeared at Louis’ door, the younger still somehow knows where this is heading. He’s been waiting for this, not in the good sense, necessarily. But he’s known it’s coming. Doesn’t make it any easier, though, when Adam finally speaks up._

_”You’re a really good person, Louis,” the older leans back in his chair, pushing back his sandy quiff, ”One of the best people I’ve ever met. Let alone dated.”_

_Louis clasps his hands together to avoid reaching out for the man. Not because he shouldn’t, but because he doesn’t want to. Eight months is a plenty long time, he thinks to himself. ”Please don’t make this into one of those really cheesy break-ups. I’ll definitely make fun of it then, and that’s not pretty.”_

_Adam’s head snaps up from where he’d been staring down at his lap. ”How’d you know?”_

_The younger quirks one brow at the man, his lips pressing into a thin line. ”I just did,” he shrugs, dry smile and all, ”Just don’t throw that ’it’s not you, it’s me’ shit at me. We both know that’s not true.”_

_And Adam doesn’t. He keeps quiet, eyes on Louis and that’s that, it seems. Adam’s a really lovely lad, he’s fit in that delicate way – all fragile bones and pronounced features, lean legs and narrow hips – and he’s such a nice person, too. He’d been the one to help Louis around in London when’d he’d first moved in the city just shy of a year ago. Adam had helped him with finding a decent flat near their shared university, had introduced Louis to his friends and just generally been a great sport. It hadn’t especially surprised the younger when after one of their get-togethers as a group, Adam had walked him to the tube station, only to then kiss Louis and spend the night at Louis’. It was natural, easy and fun. All of the three things Louis so desperately needed, while trying to settle into a new city, trying to avoid the empty feeling he’d get every now and then, when realising there’s no curly-haired boy to reach out to, to hug or just tease. Living in the same city did definitely not mean seeing each other every day, Louis had quickly learned._

_”Can I ask what, like,” Louis halts in his words, not completely sure if he’s ready to hear it, the ultimate reason for Adam’s decision. ”What it was, in the end.”_

_The older leans his elbows on the table, his pale brown eyes softening and a small, sad smile grazing his lips. He looks like he’d want to touch, but he doesn’t. ”Just. I’m sort of tired of being your second choice, y’know?”_

_Louis can feel his forehead crinkling as his brows scrunch together. ”You aren’t?”_

_”I am, though,” Adam’s smile gets even sadder if that’s possible as his eyes dart away from Louis, somewhere behind the younger. Louis knows that if he’d turn around now, he’d see the framed picture of him and Harry, taken the day Louis finished upper secondary. He doesn’t turn._

_”It’s not always there. Not like every day,” Adam speaks with a far too kind voice for the words he’s actually saying, ”But it’s sort of obvious. That when he calls, you go. It’s sweet, but when it happens in the middle of our date or just, like, when we’re hanging out with our friends,” Louis can read the discomfort in the older’s eyes, ”I hate when I have to explain it to everyone. Especially when I don’t know what to say. Like, why d’you always leave, I don’t even know.”_

_Louis hadn’t known_ this _was the reason. He’d thought it had something to do with the fact that he still hadn’t said ’I love you’ or that every time Adam tried to suggest meeting parents, Louis would weasel his way out of it. But then, he’s not surprised. Not really. ”He’s my best friend, Adam,” Louis says weakly, ”The one person who’s got me, no matter what.”_

_”But that’s the thing, Lou,” the older pulls back, the corners of his lips now pulling downwards, ”I’m supposed to be that person.”_

_And yes, Louis knows what Adam means. He means that Adam should, to a certain extent, be more important and more of a priority to Louis than Harry is. He’s not saying Louis should ditch his sixteen-year-old nephew, he’s just saying there are situations where Louis should choose his boyfriend over the younger boy. Louis knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from saying: ”I can’t choose between two people I care about.”_

_Adam sees through him, knows Louis understands, but he’s kind and that’s why he doesn’t press the topic. He offers Louis another sad smile, before getting to his feet. ”That’s why I’m not asking you to. We had a good run, Lou and I think this could’ve been something much more, too. But sometimes things just don’t work out the way you want them to.”_

_At least Louis agrees with that._

_He hugs the man goodbye, it’s a bit awkward, but it means truce. Louis doesn’t even want to think about what will happen to their friend group now, will they be able to even be in the same place without making it utterly horrible for everyone, so instead of doing that, he digs up his phone and invites Harry over for a movie night._

_Louis doesn’t feel nearly as sad about the break up as he should, he’s pretty sure. Eight months is a fairly long time to just be with one person and of course he’s wistful – everything’s going to change now. But he doesn’t feel like crying or throwing things. Doesn’t feel like graveling and begging for Adam to give them another chance. He even smiles genuinely, when Harry arrives and gives him a hug._

_”How’re you?” he asks as they settle on Louis’ tiny couch and put on the film._

_Harry shrugs as he presses closer to the older’s side. ”The same as always. School, friends,” he turns to look at Louis who hadn’t even noticed he’d already been staring at the younger. ”You?”_

_For a split second Louis entertains the thought of not telling Harry, just enjoying the night as if it was any other. But then there’s the smallest spark of hope inside him that makes him open his mouth nonetheless. ”Adam and I broke up.”_

_The shock written on Harry’s face is almost comical, his eyes round and lips popping open, but then he’s crashing into Louis and hugging him tight, face burying into the older’s neck. ”Lou,” he draws out the last vowel, ”Are you okay?”_

_”I’m fine, Harry,” Louis laughs out and pats the younger’s back gently, ”It was sort of mutual, I guess. We’d walked our road already.”_

_”But Adam was so nice,” Harry argues as he pulls away, still staying close. ”I really liked him. And he liked you.”_

_Louis raises his brows, lips quirking up. ”Yes and I liked him. But sometimes things just don’t work out. I’m alright, yeah?”_

_He’s not sure if Harry believes him in the end or not, but they drop the topic nonetheless. Despite being okay, Louis’ thoughts keep drifting back to his and Adam’s relationship during the evening, though he’s not sure why. He keeps Harry close and they have fun, but there’s this niggling thought in Louis’ head that keeps telling him he’ll never love anyone more than he loves Harry. He’ll never love anyone even_ as much _as he loves Harry. The thought is taunting, something he ignores to his best ability. It still pushes through when Harry falls asleep, head on Louis’ lap, curls around his head like a halo. And it stays from there on, for a long time._

_–_

”Louis?”

To say that Louis’ head whips around at the speed of lightning when he hears his name would only be a slight overstatement. The bones in his neck crack and he has to clamp his hand to the nape of it, just to ease the pain shooting through him. The ache dissipates, though, as soon as he spots the person calling for him.

”Adam,” he breathes out, idly taking a step forward in the line when someone behind him grumbles about slowing the queue down.

Adam gives up his place in the line and takes the few steps separating them, to join Louis on his spot. The man behind Louis grumbles again, but this time he’s too caught up in taking in the man he hasn’t seen in years, in four years to be exact. He looks different now, less skin and bones and more healthy looking roundness added to his body. His hair is still the same colour though, his lips just as plump as they were when the two of them still went to university. The brown eyes haven’t changed either, the same warmth sparkling in them.

”Hi,” Louis eventually laughs out as his hand falls away from his neck.

The other man is beaming at him, seemingly eyeing Louis from head to toe. It’s not a bad reaction, Louis thinks, before asking: ”How are you? Where have you _been_?” 

”Manchester,” Adam grins, his hand casually pushing Louis forward in the Starbucks line, ”That’s where I reside now. Have for a few years, actually.”

”Music teacher, yeah?” Louis can’t turn his eyes away, mostly because the surprise still hasn’t worn off.

Adam nods before someone’s asking for Louis’ order. He places his usual order of tall Pike Place roast and then one for Harry, Caffé Americano. The man on his side decides to let others past him, seeing as he’d jumped the line anyways. They step on the side to wait for Louis’ order, before continuing their conversation.

”Yeah, music teacher,” Adam nods, a timid smile on his lips. ”What about you? Teaching, too?”

Louis sort of regrets he’d not even tried seeking for a teacher’s job right now, but he doesn’t let it show on his face as he shakes his head. ”I work at a pub, not far from here. Still not ready to settle down anywhere, so.”

The older man’s eyes are knowing, somehow, but he doesn’t comment on it. And Adam, kind as he is, doesn’t ask Louis to elaborate on what ever might ‘not ready to settle down’ mean.

”What brings you to London?”

”Family,” Adam explains, ”Seeing my mother and brother, both. Just here for the week, really.”

It feels like a moment where Louis should suggest they see each other someday, to catch up, but he can’t bring himself to utter the words. There’s no lingering feelings or anything like that, he just feels like he has nothing to share with the older man, who clearly has found an actual direction for his life. It seems pointless to Louis, to sit down and hear about how great he’s doing, only for Louis to reveal that he’s still stuck in a loop and single, too.

The older raises his brow as he leans closer with his upper body, amused twinkle in his brown eyes. ”Louis, would you like to grab a coffee with me some day? Or a pint, that works, too.”

Louis doesn’t know how he looks if Adam’s tone is as playful as it is and he’d rather not know. He’s very aware of how awkwardly his hands are just hanging by his sides, though, so he stuffs them into his jeans’ pockets, flashing the man a smile. ”Sure. A pint sounds lovely.”

Louis’ name gets called then and he quickly struts to pick up the two take-away coffees, before making his way back to the older man. ”I, uh, have to go, but,” their eyes meet, ”Should I leave my number with you?”

Adam’s already digging out his phone and Louis rattles his number to him. ”I’ll call you to see you got it right.”

”Please, as if I didn’t remember my own number,” Louis huffs, but he’s smiling anyway.

He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket then and raises his brows at the man in an _’I told you so’_ gesture. Adam laughs at him, his slightly pointy canines showing. _Huh,_ Louis thinks, as he realizes he can still remember how those two teeth felt under the touch of his tongue. Some things just stick with you, it seems.

”Someone waiting for you, right?” Adam nods towards the cups, causing Louis to startle out of his thoughts a little.

”Yeah, yeah,” his eyes automatically move to look out of the window, where he can see Harry scrolling on his phone, head bent down. He turns back to Adam and spreads his arms. ”Hug?”

With a laugh they share a hug, before Louis is stepping out of the building with one last look over his shoulder. He makes it to Harry and offers the younger his Americano. ”Ooh, coffee,” he beams as he takes a careful sip.

”Shall we?” Louis nods towards the tube station to their left, taking a few steps already, knowing Harry will follow.

They don’t speak anything until they’re sitting in the car, the rattling of it comfortable and familiar around them. ”Who was the man you were talking to in the Starbucks?”

The older’s brows raise a tiny bit, but he school’s his expression easily. ”Remember Adam?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. ”Your ex-boyfriend Adam? The two-years-older-than-you one?”

Louis nods. ”It was him. He’s in town for the week and wants to catch up, though I don’t know when,” he turns to look at the man next to him, Harry’s frown deepening.

”You want to see him?”

”Why not? Our break-up wasn’t messy, mine usually aren’t,” there’s a hint of biting in Louis’ words, because Harry still hasn’t told him why he’d broken up with Will.

Initially, it hadn’t bothered Louis that they’d not talked about it more than just Harry informing him, but that was when Louis thought Harry would like to approach the whole thing at a slightly better time than when they’re both naked and exhausted from sex. It’s been nearly a week now, though, and Harry still hasn’t said anything about it. Louis is slightly worried, but even more so irritated at being left out.

Harry either pretends not to notice the sharp edge in Louis’ tone or he’s just oblivious.

”Well, yeah, I suppose,” there’s nothing odd about his words, but the way he turns his head away from Louis and the way his leg starts to bounce, tells the older that something is definitely up with this.

He doesn’t ask about it in the Tube, considerate of the other patrons, but as soon as they reach the flat and Harry’s mounted the couch, Louis joins him and pulls his legs under him. ”Let’s talk exes.”

Harry’s brows rise. ”What?”

”You heard me,” he deadpans. ”What happened with Will?”

From the other’s face Louis can see that he’s been avoiding this conversation knowingly and the older isn’t sure if he should feel hurt, because Harry clearly feels like he can’t talk about everything with him, or if he should feel worried, because Harry can’t talk about everything with him. Louis inches a little closer, but doesn’t crowd in Harry’s space – lets him breathe.

Harry clears his throat and makes a point of avoiding Louis’ eyes when he sets off to speak. ”We broke up weeks ago. Like, just after that pub incident, with the tattoos. It had nothing to do with you or us, though,” his words are slow and clearly he’s trying to meander through the muddle of thoughts in his head as his brows knit together. ”The relationship wasn’t good. Like, at all. You know how it got, at times..”

Much to Louis’ regret, he does know. It wasn’t just once or twice that he’d had to pick Harry up from a party or a park and drag him home with him, make sure he doesn’t have alcohol poisoning. Harry never explicitly said it was because of Will that he’d been drinking alone in the first place, but Louis knew. He knew because it was the guilty words Harry would slur at him when he was coming down, vomiting or crying. Sometimes both. They never mentioned it in the morning, mostly because Harry tended to be gone when Louis got up, but also because they just didn’t do that. They didn’t talk about fragile things, both terrified of breaking the other.

”I know,” Louis nods, voice quiet but even, adamant to not show how much those times had affected him.

Harry’s head falls against the backrest of the couch as he sighs, his eyes already glistening. Louis doesn’t get closer even though every single fibre in his body is telling him to do so. It’s not his place, he reminds himself just as Harry continues.

”It wasn’t all bad, though. I mean, yeah. He was controlling and just plain mean at times, but he didn’t use to be like that. When I met him, he was genuinely one of the nicest, brightest people I’d ever met. He had this amazing ability to just drag me out of my–,” Harry’s eyes dart to Louis for a second, before he swallows, ”Erm, out of my head when it got difficult. With stuff like your family and my real one, my roots basically. He was so good at distracting me, I got addicted to that feeling.”

It shouldn’t hurt Louis, to hear those words. But it does. And what’s the scariest part of it all, is that hearing Harry declare his feelings for Will hurts nearly as much as hearing about the younger’s struggles, about how he’d blamed himself for being the bad person in that relationship. Louis hadn’t really spent much time with the couple, but he knew Harry. He knew Harry so well, that he could easily say that he wasn’t the one that kept making the relationship shit. Louis knew that, but he’d never stepped in – it had never been his place to do so. He wasn’t entitled to do so.

”For a long period of time, I mistook that addiction for love,” Harry’s lashes flutter as the words fall heavy on them, the air turning thicker and suddenly the conversation isn’t what Louis thought it would be anymore, ”He kept telling me he loved me so I don’t know, I just, I assumed that the thing I felt for him was the same thing. I adored him. But it wasn’t the kind of adoration I feel for you, for example.”

Louis heart jumps, but he refuses to read into any of it. Harry doesn’t seem fazed by his own words, it’s not what Louis wants to make it out to be.

”But I clung on to him. Let him kind of parade me around. It was fun, I like attention,” an attempt of a smirk grazes Harry’s lips before it’s gone, ”Then it got bad, though. Because every look I got, every compliment or touch – he couldn’t handle it. He once even shouted at Niall. My _best mate_. Niall, who definitely has zero interest in me,” he shakes his head.

”I guess I just had some perspective when I moved to yours, y’know,” finally Harry turns to look at Louis, and the older just hopes his expression won’t give away any of the turmoil inside him. _Be impartial_ , he keeps telling himself as the silence stretches between them.

”How?”

Harry shrugs, licking his lips. ”You treat me so differently.”

Louis’ stomach lurches and even though that sick part of his brain wants to revel in the words, wants to start showering Harry in countless praises and compliments – wants to validate him as something else than just a friend – Louis doesn’t listen to it. He’s become conditioned not to.

”Of course I do, I’m your un– friend. Oldest friend,” he backtracks.

Something very unfamiliar to Louis swims in Harry’s slightly misty eyes, still watery but no tears to be seen. A smile, a little bit more genuine than the one he’d tried to muster before, slips on his lips.

”Yeah, but still. You appreciate me differently, as a human being and just, your equal. I don’t know how to explain it, but you make me feel special without letting it get into my head. ’s weird.”

The older knows that feeling, he knows it so well. Harry has done that for him for years now, ever since he’d realized that Louis had started struggling with his body image when he was eighteen. Harry had barely been fifteen, but he’d made sure Louis was fully aware of how amazing he was, how _fit_ he was – the younger had always managed to slip it into their conversations without it coming across as if he had a massive crush on Louis. That doesn’t mean Louis hadn’t hoped, despite knowing it was just Harry’s way of supporting him. But Louis knows. He knows how it feels to be valued by someone in every sense possible.

”You’re my soft spot,” he eventually says, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes, ”That’s just a fact of life. But it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be appreciated by everyone else in your life. You’re amazing and don’t have to change a thing about you. I’ve told you this.”

Harry’s smile widens, though it’s more bashful now. He nods, turning his head away as he faces the ceiling.

”I know. That was how I came to the decision to leave him. We only saw a couple times afterwards, because old habits die hard, but both times he just screwed with my head. Like, talked shit about you and me and our relationship. It was–,” suddenly he clamps his mouth shut as if he’d just realized what he’d said.

It takes Louis a brief moment to realize what exactly had Harry said, but then he catches on, the words clear in his mind.

_Shit about you and me and our relationship_.

Harry didn’t mean relationship as in a romantic relationship or whatever, but it was now clear that Will had implied it. He’d implied there was something more going on between Louis and Harry, and this wouldn’t be such a big revelation, if it hadn’t been right around that time that Harry’d first given Louis a love-bite on his neck, drunk and angry – confused.

Louis leans closer to the man, who’s gone rigid, his eyes blankly staring ahead of him. The older’s mouth opens and his eyes squint as he tries to wrap his mind around the words he’s supposed to be saying, but it’s fruitless. He doesn’t know what he wants to say.

”Is that why..,” Louis starts, but finds the words betraying him once again. He inches closer and tentatively lands his hand on Harry’s shoulder, jolting the younger out of his stiff pose. ”Is that why you bit the hell out of me neck that one night? When you said you wanted him to hurt? That’s it?”

Harry’s eyes aren’t quite focused on Louis, but a little past his shoulder, somewhere further away. He tilts his head and Louis can already hear his vague attempt at denying Louis’ words, but then he seems to deflate and decide against it.

”Not completely,” Harry says with a pause, both words heavily pressed, ”He, uh, gave me motivation? I just, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and cute. Like, sleep mussed and just _there_. So.”

Mixed feelings swim inside the older’s body as he contemplates whether he should laugh or slap some sense into the man.

”Wrong place?” He repeats, tone flat, ”In my own home. I was at the wrong place, that is my own home, just to clarify. At the wrong time, which is in the middle of the night. Harry,” Louis pins the taller’s eyes in place with his own, ”Why’d you do it?”

It’s clear that Harry feels just as uncomfortable diving into something like this, something as delicate as this, for the same reason as always: it’s fragile. They’re walking on thin ice here, but once Louis’ interest has been piqued, there’s no going back. Friendship be damned.

”I just wanted to.”

Louis’ hold on Harry’s shoulder loosens and drifts down to his elbow. ”Why? We’re not–. We don’t do that. We _didn’t_ do that.”

Harry still looks like he could bolt any moment, but a slight shift happens in his posture as he leans closer while speaking.

”We did use to,” he reminds, ”Not like, regularly or anything. But I mean. We talked about this, right? I’m not imagining that conversation outside the club, am I?”

The older tenses at the memory, if only because the whole situation had been surprising and hard on him – quite literally. ”No, it happened,” he quips, but doesn’t move further away.

”So, you remember? Twice, while growing up we did stuff,” Harry’s voice has turned lower and more wary, but he keeps talking, ”And then I was drunk. And you were there, I just. I don’t even know, Lou.”

Well. Louis can safely say he doesn’t know either. He detaches himself from Harry and leans back, releasing Harry from his stare as well. He wants to ask Harry questions. Questions like if he’d always been attracted to Louis or if it’s just a whimsical thing. Has he ever dreamed of doing things like that with Louis? Has there ever been more –.

He shuts his thoughts down.

”Okay,” Louis nods, resolutely, ”It’s not like it bothered me or anything. I guess I just thought that maybe Will’s words had something to do with it. Doesn’t matter though, even if they did. Don’t know why I would care.”

Harry seems to understand that this is all he’s ever going to get out of Louis regarding their current situation, so he doesn’t press on it, doesn’t ask or try to explain himself anymore. Instead he takes in Louis’ apologies for not having known Harry’s relationship had been what it had, so messed up.

”I wouldn’t have let you do anything even if I’d told you,” the younger assures, taking a hold of Louis’ hand, twiddling with the older’s fingers. ”Don’t say you’re sorry.” 

Louis wants to keep saying he’s sorry, wants to tell Harry how Will didn’t even deserve the other, how much Louis just wants to go bash his head in for treating the world’s most precious human being the way he had. Obviously, he can’t say any of this and if he has to hear himself think the words ’ _not entitled to_ ’ one more time, he might bash his own head in.

”I won’t say I’m sorry, fine,” he yields, but nudges Harry’s shoulder with his forehead. ”But, just know that you’re better off without him.”

”I know,” Harry’s answering smile is warm and hundred percent real, easing some of the tumult inside Louis.

A beat passes in silence, one that reads ’end of discussion’, which is fine with Louis. He’d gotten everything out of Harry he’d initially wanted, no matter how it left him feeling in the end. He keeps his forehead against the taller’s shoulder and lets his eyes fall shut for the briefest of moments, collecting his thoughts and more than that, his feelings. Tries to wonder if the fact that Harry’s single again will change something, if he should maybe take some steps back again, just to be on the safe side.

The thing with Will was that Louis could always use him as an excuse. Even when he’d been drunk out of his arse and wanted to try his luck and tell Harry how he felt about the younger, ready to bypass the pressing issue of their somewhat shared family and the fact that they’re best friends, Will had kept him from doing it. Louis never wanted to confuse Harry, because in his mind, Harry had always been in love with Will. Now, though.

Louis doesn’t even want to think about it, what this could mean. He suddenly has the urge to see Zayn and unload everything that’s been going on for the past couple of weeks, but at the same time, he really, really doesn’t want to. Zayn will absolutely be all rational and logical about it, forcing Louis to actually think about his actions. He resents that.

”Lou?”

”Mmm?”

When Harry doesn’t say anything further, Louis raises his head to meet the man’s eyes, his brows already knitting in confusion. What he’s met by, is Harry’s dark eyes and wet, glistening lips – a look Louis has gradually grown used to. Getting used to it doesn’t mean his stomach would stop doing cartwheels every time he sees the look, however.

The younger angles himself so that his upper body is facing Louis’, his right hand braced on the length of the backrest and his left one still cradling Louis’ hand. There’s tension, crackling kind of tension, between them and it electrifies Louis to the last bone in his body. Harry’s lips quirk up, just before he leans in and presses their lips together without another word.

It’s wrong, how all thoughts about being reasonable and saving his own arse, fly right out of Louis’ mind after that, but Louis’ never really been one to do things the right way. If he were a slightly more poetical person, he’d think he took the wrong turn years ago.

Thankfully, Louis’ not.

–

On Thursday, after work, Louis goes home with the intent to change his clothes and then disappear before Harry’s due home from his study-group. He doesn’t know _why_ he feels the need to escape Harry and his inevitable questions, but there’s just this tiny part inside him that keeps yelling, in a frantic way, for him to _not_ let his nephew know where exactly he’s dashing off to.

Adam had texted Louis in the morning, inquiring about that pint, and really, Louis didn’t have anything better to do anyways. And it would be fun to hear how Adam’s been doing, on some level, maybe reminisce their time at uni and talk about the people they’ve kept in touch with afterwards. It’s not been that long since, but for Louis it seems like a small lifetime ago when he’d gotten his diploma.

Louis was so close to making it, too, literally just about to start pulling on his shoes, when he hears the key twisting in the lock. His eyes screw shut where he’s bent over to pick up his original Adidas shoes, just as Harry steps in and halts in his movements.

”Where you off to? Thought you had the evening off?”

The older forces his eyes open and picks up the right shoe, shoving his foot in. ”Yeah, I’m off to see a friend.”

Harry seems to be in a good mood, his eyes bright and lips pulled into that small smile he usually sports when there’s nothing pressing on him. Louis would hate to see that go, even though he’s not sure why does he think it would go in the first place, even if Harry were to know who Louis is seeing. His brain really has got to stop over-analysing everything.

”Oh? Someone I know?” Harry’s moves away from the door to remove his shoes, placing them neatly next to each other in the line of other footwear.

Louis stalls under the guise of putting on his other shoe and picking up his Adidas jacket from the racket, just as Harry hangs his own coat. Their eyes meet.

”Sorta,” Louis hesitates, ”I’m meeting Adam for a pint. And maybe dinner, like fish and chips or summat. Pretty hungry.”

It could be that Louis completely imagines the slight twitch of Harry’s eye, because the man is still smiling in an easy manner and his body is relaxed all the same. But then again, the younger also takes a step closer and places his hand on Louis’ hip in a way that could be read as something else than completely platonic, his long, slender fingers pressing to the flesh just above the arch of Louis’ arse. _Right_.

”I could’ve cooked,” the man pouts and somehow Louis can’t find it in himself to move, to just turn around and sprint out the door.

”We’ll eat together tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that,” Louis quirks his brows, ”Literally nearly every day, Haz. I’ll be gone, like, three hours or something.”

And _why_ is Louis explaining this to Harry? He is decidedly not accountable to the younger, yet for some reason, his tongue just wants to throw out even more extenuating circumstances, to appease Harry, even though there’s nothing to appease him about.

Harry blinks, lashes fluttering and then his hand’s travelling lower on Louis’ back, his fingers sneaking under the waistband of Louis’ jeans and briefs, gently dragging up the cleft between his arse cheeks.

”Yeah? Three hours,” he hums, ”I can do a lot in three hours.”

It is not the first time Louis regrets starting up this game with Harry. It most likely isn’t the last time either. Involuntarily, Louis pushes back to Harry’s touch and a small smirk appears on the taller’s lips. _Little shit_ , Louis thinks, before treading his fingers in the man’s hair, tugging gently. The smirk disappears, at least.

”What’s this now?” he asks, voice even, though his lower stomach is already coiling with heat. ”You jealous or something?”

Harry stares at him with his half-lidded eyes, gaze intense even with his mouth prettily gaping open, lower lip trembling each time Louis tugs at his locks. ”Maybe. Would that make you stay?”

Louis ponders over it – seriously thinks about what it might mean. And then he stops himself. _It’s just sex_. The corners of his mouth lift up as he leans in to peck Harry’s. ”I don’t think so, darling.”

The haziness dissipates from Harry’s face almost completely as Lois tries to detach himself. He doesn’t get far, before the younger’s pulling him close, crotches and chests flushed together.

”So mean,” Harry mutters, smiling enough to show a dimple.

Louis should be going already, he’s going to be late if he doesn’t get out of the door, like, in the next three minutes. He finds it hard to swallow, though, when Harry’s green eyes are boring into his blue ones and his big palm is cradling Louis’ jaw, gently pulling him in to lock their lips. And Louis doesn’t even hesitate, is the thing.

He leans in and allows Harry’s tongue inside without much prompting, lets the taller’s fingers crook on the waistband of his jeans and fiddle with the button and zipper. Louis’ own hands, without meaning to, fist on Harry’s t-shirt, pulling the man closer. Their mouths move at a languid pace, Louis’ teeth nibbling at Harry’s bottom lip every now and then only to soothe the spot with his tongue. The sound it makes, their mouths moving together, it’s nearly intoxicating in the otherwise silent flat and yeah, Louis just really doesn’t want to go anymore.

_’He’s a hoe and he knows it.’_ Zayn’s words from months back resonate in his mind and Louis doesn’t know whether to be impressed or slightly worried. He’d fallen right in, like any other reasonable man, probably.

Harry’s fingers tug on the waistband of Louis’ briefs and his other hand slides under the older’s shirt to scratch at the skin of Louis’ stomach, sending shivers all over his body. The younger pulls back, merely enough for his breath to still tingle on Louis’ raw lips.

”Stay for a bit?”

Louis swallows and meets Harry’s bright eyes, pupils dilated and _fuck_ he’s gorgeous. He shouldn’t even be possible, not really.

”Fifteen minutes.”

A victorious smile spreads on the taller’s lips at Louis’ words and then he’s being pulled into a more desperate, fast-paced kiss, while simultaneously trying to trip towards the bedroom. He can’t help the laugh that escapes him when Harry nearly falls over, tangling in his own feet, but it’s good, it’s so good to have the other man laugh too, their mouths chasing kisses as they hastily get rid of their jeans and briefs, forgoing the shirts, because, well, time.

Louis lets Harry push him down on the bed, lets him bunch up Louis’ t-shirt to reveal his chest all the way to his nipples. The hungry look in the younger’s eyes causes Louis’ stomach to somersault a few times, want tugging in his gut. ”Come on then,” he urges, using his toes to poke the taller who’s looming over him, on his knees, ”Don’t just _watch_.”

Harry’s grin is positively beaming as he falls down, not graciously at all, so that he’s covering Louis’ body with his own. The ’oompf’ sound isn’t very sexy either, but really, Louis’ starting to think that even when endearing, Harry manages to turn him on.

”Why though?” the taller asks, his tone is faux-innocent as he leans down to drag his teeth along Louis’ chest, to his nipple which he sucks into his plush mouth. ”I’m not really in a hurry. Got all night.”

Louis rolls his eyes, bucking his hips up in a protest. His voice is a little thinner, more airy, when he speaks. ”But _I_ am, in a hurry,” he breathes out a little bit more shakily when the tip of Harry’s tongue pokes out to lick down, down, down towards Louis’ navel. ”And I’ll walk out, if you don’t get things going.”

Louis doesn’t believe his own words for a second, so really, it’s no wonder when Harry sends him an amused smirk from where he’s biting down on Louis’ hip.

”Sure you will.”

The older is just about to start ranting when Harry gets up to get the lube out of the bedside table drawer, effectively cutting the words off. Louis isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to watching Harry pour the sticky liquid on his fingers, used to the feeling of the slightly cold lube and the man’s hand wrapping around his cock. Probably not.

”No time for bum stuff, babe,” the older shakes his head, hissing at the contact.

Harry’s touch reveals just how turned on Louis already is and it’s pathetic, a little, but that’s neither here nor there, not really. Louis bucks his hips up, thrusting in the younger’s loose fist as Harry leans over him to pepper his jawline with small, sweet kisses in contrast with Louis’ desperate motions.

”I know,” the taller breathes out a laugh with a delay, his lips sucking insistently on Louis’ neck, his teeth scraping the skin a little. ”Just want it to be good for you.”

Louis’ back arches under Harry’s burning touch, every little fiber of his body aching for it, _pleading_ for it and Louis doesn’t even have it in him to worry about it anymore, to wonder when exactly did it turn out like this. He lets Harry jack them off, slow and deliberate, lets him take his time (much longer than fifteen minutes, for sure) and Louis gets lost in the heat of it all.

He gets lost in Harry’s glimmering green eyes and his sweaty palms that seem to engulf his own much smaller body. And Louis kisses Harry; he kisses Harry and laughs into his mouth when the younger’s long fingers tickle his side and then he moans when Harry bites and sucks on his neck, bringing the sweet release with his sinful mouth to the both of them.

And Louis kisses Harry before he slips out the door, heart still beating rapidly against his ribcage. But then again, who could blame him?

*

”Hiya.”

Adam hugs him upon greeting and it should probably feel weird, but it doesn’t, is the thing. It’s a longer hug than the one they shared at Starbucks, too. His arms reach all the way around Louis like they always have, though they hold more muscle now and feel a bit more defined than how Louis remembers them being.

”Hey,” he replies when they separate to sit down at the booth Adam had been saving for them.

”I took the liberty of ordering us some fish ’n’ chips, hope you don’t mind,” the man smiles, the right corner of his thin lips pulling higher up than the left one – just like it always has.

Louis shakes his head, smile on his own lips. ”Nah, I’m starving.”

The older man’s eyebrows quirk at that and he gives Louis a knowing look, gaze travelling lower, landing somewhere around his neck. ”Oh, I bet.”

_Shit_.

It’s more of a reflex when Louis’ hand flies to his neck to cover up what must be quite an array of love bites, if Harry’s work looks as thorough as it had _felt_ mere half an hour ago. Louis clears his throat. ”Right,” he flashes a sheepish smile, hand falling away from the bruises, ”Oops?”

Adam’s laugh is loud and clear, just as infectious as it always has been.

”You haven’t changed that much,” Louis muses, a little bemused.

”Oh?” Adam leans his elbows on the table, the bright smile still present. ”Isn’t that sort of sad though? If I’m still exactly the same as I was, what, four years ago?”

Louis shakes his head as his fingers tap on the wooden table. ”Not _exactly_ the same, just..” he waves his hand in a vague manner, eyes searching for more that’s stayed the same in this man he used to call his boyfriend for almost a year at some point of his life, ”Your expressions and gestures are the same. Your laugh and smile – all good things, things that were just fine then, too.”

The man smiles and Louis detects some of that rare shyness on his features when Adam angles his head down a little, eyes sparkling.

”You’ve changed,” he offers after a few seconds of silence, his eyes returning to level with Louis’.

”Now, should I be offended?” the younger jokes as he, without much thought, steals Adam’s pint and sips from it before sliding it back to the man. It’s odd how easy it is for Louis to slide back to old habits, especially with someone he’s not seen in years.

Adam doesn’t comment on it, just smiles wider and leans back in his seat. ”I don’t think so, no.”

Louis raises his brows. ”You don’t think so?”

”No,” Adam repeats, now slowly shaking his head as well, ”I don’t know what it is that’s changed, but something’s different. You still look as good as ever, which you without a doubt know,” he throws Louis a cheeky grin.

”But?” Louis prompts, somewhat curious but then, also scared a little.

The other man shrugs. ”I don’t know. The general vibe is different,” he says, ”Maybe it’s got something to do with the person who’s assaulted your neck, hm?”

_Right_ , Louis thinks, _if you only knew_.

He doesn’t say this, only laughs and pushes his fringe out of his eyes. He really should think about getting a haircut.

”No, but for real. Are you seeing someone?”

”No, not really. It’s more of a, uh, a casual arrangement. Nothing that’ll ever stick, though,” Louis shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, which – well.

Something about the way Adam responds, with a vague affirmative noise and a nod, tells Louis that the man isn’t exactly surprised. Then again, Louis wouldn’t be surprised even if Adam wasn’t surprised, is the thing. Out of all the people Louis’ ever dated, Adam was the only one to directly point out his and Harry’s unnaturally close relationship – the only person who ever saw it as what it was and not what it was supposed to be. Louis’ pretty sure, at least. And hence, he’s probably one of the only people who knows that as long as Harry is in his life, there’s not many things that’ll stick, other than the friendship between the younger and Louis.

”How about you?” he diverts then, smirking at the other.

Adam shakes his head, a little more subdued smile on his lips. ”Not seeing anyone at the moment, just me. Broke up not too long ago from a guy named Christian. He actually went to our uni.”

A spark of recognition alights in Louis mind at the name, a vaguely familiar face appearing from somewhere deep within his memories. ”Christian? As in Christian Arrington, the bloke who studied law?”

”Yeah,” Adam seems surprised, ”Wasn’t sure you’d remember him. He wasn’t in our crowd back when we were together.”

”No, I remember him, though only barely,” Louis admits. ”Never was good with the faces. So, you were together ever since…?”

He leaves it for Adam to fill in, because the horrible truth is, that Louis never kept tabs on Adam after they broke up. He never did that obsessive post-break-up stalking where he would have faux-casually asked around about the older man to get bits and pieces of information where he was in the process of getting over their relationship, so Louis never knew when Adam started dating again. He never even knew _who_ the man dated. Their ’crowd’, as Adam put it, pretty much split up in the wake of Louis and Adam. Louis stuck to Zayn and Adam – well, Adam always found new people. That’s university for you, though, Louis supposes.

”Ever since 2011, so six-ish years.”

A year after they’d broken up, then.

”Oh. That’s a long time,” Louis simply says, not really being able to even comprehend what that sort of a relationship might mean to a person.

He guesses it must have been tough, but he’s never had anything like that, for obvious reasons. Sadly.

Adam shrugs, but his smile is sadder than before. ”It was a good relationship. We just wanted different things in the end, ’s all.”

”Honestly, what are the chances we’ll ever meet anyone who wants the same things as us?” Louis wonders out loud, not even joking, not really. ”Seems like it always comes down to that, don’t you think?”

The older man tilts his head from left to right, pondering.

”I don’t know. That wasn’t the reason _we_ broke up, was it?” Adam looks at him with somewhat soul piercing eyes. ”Doesn’t that mean it’s not always about wanting different things.”

And _no_. Louis didn’t come here to talk about heavy stuff, to think about what went wrong. He came here to hear about Adam’s life, about his job and how he’s figured out what he wants from life, _who_ he wants from life, even. Louis did not sign up for digging up years old resentment or whatever it might be that Adam feels for him. Just, no.

”I suppose,” he says, careful and slow, ”But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have ended that way later on.”

The heavy air lifts when Adam laughs and someone brings over their food and a pint for Louis. As the waiter leaves them, Adam shakes his head in a fond manner. ”You’re such a pessimist, aren’t you?”

Louis smirks. ”Maybe. But it’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?”

Much to Louis’ delight, they steer clear of any unpleasant memories from there on out and the night turns out alright, fun even. There’s always that something about seeing people from your past, people that have grown their own lives after their paths have separated – most of the time it’s just depressing for Louis, just to be clear, but sometimes he gets a little hope, too. Like, maybe one day he’ll have a life of his own, one that he actually wants to live.

Maybe.

–

Louis should be ashamed of himself. He really, really should. But the thing is, he’s much more frustrated at Zayn than anything else, the worst part being that his best friend is absolutely clueless to this. He’s absolutely clueless to _everything_ , Louis bitterly thinks as Emmett – the same Emmett Louis had ground on just some months back – keeps stroking his upper arm while whispering into his ear, things about Louis’ perfect, plump body and his cheekbones.

Three months ago, Louis would’ve preened under the compliments of a fairly attractive man like Emmett. He’d have flirted right back at him, drunk or not, and taken him home to fuck afterwards. That would’ve been considered a good party, a successful evening.

That is not what Louis is doing today.

Instead, his rapidly fuzzing, inebriated brain is focusing on something else altogether. He’s leaning against the wall that separates Zayn’s kitchen and living room, Emmett tightly tucked on his side, while Louis’ altering between glaring at his dear best friend, who’s blissfully unaware of anything and everything else besides Liam and his _oh-_ so-interesting stories at the other end of the room, and shooting daggers towards Harry, who’s very pointedly not making eye contact with him, while letting – of all people – Nick Grimshaw hang all over him.

See, Louis knows he’s not supposed to be jealous. Knows they’re very much no-strings-attached kind of a deal with Harry, that he’s got no claim on Harry. Obviously, if they’ve only had sex like two times and even if it had been a hundred times – doesn’t matter. They’re not dating, simple as that. But reason and Louis don’t really get along even when he’s sober, let alone when he’s been throwing back rum and coke after rum and coke.

And that is precisely why Louis is now blaming this whole situation on Zayn, first and foremost. Had he not invited Emmett to his ’I’ve got a new job that I actually like -party’ for him to hang on Louis, Harry wouldn’t have even left his side in the first place. Wouldn’t have stricken up a conversation with _Grimshaw,_ not with the intent he’s done now with, at least. Even from where Louis is standing, he can see the much older radio host’s hand splayed on Harry’s hip in a possessive manner, which. Just no.

”Look, darling,” Louis kicks himself away from the wall and separates from Emmett, ”You’re hot and very, very nice with the compliments and whatnot. But this isn’t gonna work.”

He doesn’t offer an explanation as to _why_ exactly, instead taking a few strides towards the balcony, only slowing down a little when he passes Harry and his companion. Him and Harry exchange a look, a look that is all but enough to tell Louis where his nephew’s mind’s at, enough to make it blatantly clear that this is Harry riling Louis up on purpose. He seems victorious when he realizes it’s actually working.

Louis pushes his way through some people and out on the unoccupied balcony. Zayn’s cigarettes are perched on the table along with his lighter, and Louis really doesn’t see a reason not to. He lights up one and takes a deep drag, the sweet sensation thrumming in his veins, instantly mellowing out the raging jealousy, leaving him heavy and sort of pliant. It amuses Louis to some extent that he’s only been smoke-free, more or less, for three years, but in that short time the poison actually has started to affect him this easily.

With his brain hazy from the nicotine and alcohol, he still manages to feel a twinge of envy towards Nick. He knows the man has had a crush on Harry (read: has been drooling, _slobbering_ , all over Harry ever since they’d met when Harry was just eighteen) for the longest of time, knows Harry’s never reciprocated those feelings, but it doesn’t make it any easier that he’s still allowed to get his hands on Harry like that in front of everyone, while Louis – Louis, who’s from head to toe in _love_ with the man, can’t even give him a sweet, innocent kiss when other people are present.

Logically thinking, Louis understands that in no way is he in a place to show his love for Harry, even when it’s just the two of them. It’s just sex between them, is what it is. Because Harry doesn’t love Louis like he loves Harry.

With a deep drag of smoke, Louis lets his brain entertain the thought of this lovely man actually responding to his love with feelings just as true and fierce as his.

It’s not a thought Louis had just easily brushed off, he’s not stupid, not blind either. When he was younger, he used to have this silly glimmer of hope inside him that he’d carry with him everywhere he went. It would spark brighter every time someone thought him and Harry were a couple, every time Harry would touch him in an intimate way, in a way none of Louis’ other mates touched him. It wasn’t an impossible thought, years ago, because Harry does love Louis. He’s said so a hundred times, Louis knows he’s one of the most important people to Harry.

But there’s a difference. A very fundamental difference, between the love Louis feels towards Harry and the love the younger feels towards him.

Harry’s love is that of a best friend’s; the kind that makes your insides burst with pride every time you see your best friend achieve something really great, see them happy; the kind that makes you fiercely protective over them, makes you want to save them from every bad thing the world could throw in their way: the kind that makes you, ultimately, want to see them end up with someone that can take care of them with the same gusto and vigor that you’ve taken care of them until that point.

Whereas Louis’ love for Harry–. It’s the kind that makes you want to give up everything you’ve ever possessed and then some, if that means you can see the smallest smile graze the other person’s lips; it’s the kind of love that makes your insides burn with wanton want to hold them close to you, never let them out of sight so nothing will ever be able to hurt them; he kind of love that makes you do irrational things, makes you go to extreme lengths to provide this person with everything good in the world, may it mean for them to end up with someone else than you in the end; The kind of love that will wreck you to your very core, if it isn’t met with a love the same kind.

A stutter shakes Louis’ lungs in a prelude to what could be tears, but he wills the wave of emotions to stay down and takes the last drag of his slowly burning cigarette, before discarding it on the ash tray. _Anyways_ , Louis thinks, _it would’ve happened already if it ever were to._

The door creaks open and Louis is met with Zayn’s blissfully hazy eyes and smile. Both of those things change, however, as soon as he sees how Louis looks – the older guesses it’s something between resigned and pissed. That’s how he feels, at least.

”What’s up?” Zayn’s asks as he leans on the railing next to Louis.

Louis had meant to start ranting about what a horrible party his friend had put together, to let out some of his initial anger, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to. In the end, it’s not really Zayn’s fault. He’s the one who started playing with fire.

”’s just Harry and Grimmy.”

Zayn gazes over his shoulder, inside the house through the window, presumably taking in the picture of the two men closely pressed together against the wall.

”Sorry,” the younger then says, turning back to Louis, ”I didn’t invite him. Don’t know who did.”

The older shrugs, because it doesn’t matter who did. What matters, is that he shouldn’t be bothered over it. Few months ago he would have barely batted an eyelash at the image, fully aware there was no way he’d ever be able to be like that with Harry, not in any situation. Except, now he has.

”Are you okay?” Zayn’s voice is gentle in the way he only uses with Louis and maybe with Liam, the older thinks. It gives away just how big of a heart the brooding man actually carries with him.

”I don’t know,” Louis admits, turning to meet his friend’s eyes – worried eyes. ”Harry’s not moving away for the time being. He’s gonna stay with me, though Alice probably will cut him off. Then he’ll have to get a job,” he rambles, though none of this really has anything to do with his inner turmoil.

Zayn seems to know. ”Did something happen? With you and H?”

There’s this resolute edge to the younger’s eyes and voice that begs Louis not to try and evade the question. And maybe Louis is just on the right side of drunk, because he nods, somberly.

”D’you fight?” Zayn guesses, tentatively.

Louis can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes him, pushing back his growing fringe.

”Not really, no,” he shakes his head, looking away, down at the street below them, ”It started with a blowjob that he wanted to give me for ruining mine and Zack’s fun. Stupid as I am, I returned the favour. And then it was hand jobs and blowies everywhere – littered throughout my day like a fucking fairy throwing around glitter,”

Zayn snorts, bless him for being a good sport about it, ”And I don’t even _know_ what I thought would happen. Why’d I even do it in the first place. I know he’s not emotionally invested like I am, but for some fucking reason it seemed like a brilliant idea back then, to just go with it.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything, must sense Louis isn’t done with his rant yet. The older turns to throw a look at Harry and Grimmy, both laughing, Nick’s hands clasped on Harry’s hips and the younger’s forehead braced against his shoulder. They make quite a picture, Louis thinks.

”So, it was casual blowjobs and hand jobs, but I made it clear I wouldn’t have sex with him. Just, out of sense of morals you know? And to save my own arse, I s’pose,” Louis shakes his head, smiling what could be read as fond, but in truth is just self-deprecating, ”And then we went to Manchester. And he realized I’d fucked there and got sort of hurt, because I wouldn’t fuck him. And it’s _Harry_ , you know?

We fought, or bickered, whatever. About our relation, like I tried to be adamant about me being his uncle, but for every ounce that I’m determined that I, in fact am that, he’s resolute that I most certainly am not. He made this whole speech about me being a downright dick if I use his position in the family against him like Alice and my mum do. What the hell was I supposed to do? I’d fucking jump in front of a train for him, and,” he sighs, frustrated, and hides his face in his hands for a moment.

”You fucked him, then?” Zayn asks, his tone giving away very little about his thoughts. He’s not judging, though, that is for sure.

Louis barely even flushes at the thought of their first time, however sudden and unplanned it had been, dirty and definitely not how he’d imagined it in those thousands of his dreams. Louis never really gave himself the time to digest it, either, the fact that he’d been inside Harry, just like that. It hadn’t broken them, neither one, hadn’t made the tectonic plates shift suddenly or driven the whole world into chaos. It had rocked Louis’, yes, but not in the negative way he’d made himself think it would. Sex with Harry had been easy, natural. It had happened and then Louis just simply couldn’t even think of sticking himself inside any other person, ever. That, of course, he’d never say to Harry. Couldn’t say, even if he wanted to.

”It was proper porno quality as well,” he says after nodding, watching his best friend from under raised brows and dark lashes, his head still slightly angled down, ”He got so jealous when he realized I’d invited Zack over for a booty call, because Harry had been holding out for a week. I was getting restless, because he’d been trying to – and don’t laugh – _lure_ me into fucking him. I was this close –,” Louis pinches air with his forefinger and thumb, ” – to busting a nut. Was awful, mate. And then there he was, fucking bending over the couch table and fingering himself open in front of me.”

Zayn seems slightly stunned for all of five seconds, before he’s smirking in a manner that bleeds respect of some sort. ”Fuck, he’s good, isn’t he,” he muses, turning his eyes towards the blocks of flats spreading ahead of them. His brown eyes are twinkling, but seem to grow more serious after taking in everything Louis had said – as in what it means for Louis and his heart, rather than his body.

”You’re fucked,” Zayn states bluntly, his eyes back on Louis, ”Not just in the literal sense, but every other possible sense, too. I hate to say this, but I told you so. I told you you’d burn yourself in this game.”

Louis grins weakly at his friend.

”You really don’t hate to say that,” he points out, before sighing and sagging against the railing, ”I know, though. But really, there’s no way I’d be able to slip out of this graciously, without hurting his feelings. Without making him think I don’t physically want him.”

Zayn hums in agreement, but his brows knit almost at the exact same time. ”What about Will? H just cheating on him?”

”He didn’t,” Louis shakes his head, ”They broke up a long time ago. Around the time we spent the night here, all of us.”

”Ah,” the younger nods, as if he should’ve known that already, ”No help from there either, then.”

Louis shakes his head again. ”I care about him,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with his hand, ”Don’t want to make him think I don’t appreciate every single part of him. Pathetic as that is.”

”’s not, though,” Zayn argues, his hand warm and comforting on Louis’ back, ”It’s normal, it’s humane, Louis. You’re in love with him.”

Hearing the words tumble out of someone’s mouth after such a long time – it feels strange. Feels almost foreign, even though Louis definitely identifies his feelings as love, deeply rooted one, too. He’d just made it a point never to say it out loud, having spent years hoping it would somehow go away, morph into that of a friend instead of something else. It never did, of course. But he’d been hopeful.

”Yeah,” he croaks out, attempting a small smile, which Zayn mirrors.

The younger squeezes his shoulder, a brief moment of silence following, before he’s drawing Louis’ attention back to him. ”You’re not gonna like this,” he starts, the older already turning to look at him, ”But you two aren’t exclusive, right?”

Even though they’d never discussed it, Louis thinks it’s pretty safe to say that no, no they aren’t. A sickly twist in his gut almost prevents the words from coming out. ”No, obviously. Why?”

Zayn seems slightly apologetic before uttering his next words. ”Two ways: you can fuck other people on the side, keep your emotions somehow intact. It’s gonna feel shitty at first, I know you don’t share the level of intimacy that you have with him with anyone else. But it’ll help you put it into perspective.”

Discomfort swims in Louis’ belly, but even drunk, he understands Zayn’s reasoning. If he could liken Harry with any other person he’s just casually having sex with, it would make the sex a little less special, probably. ”And the other?”

The younger’s lips press into a thin line. ”Boyfriend. Just start dating. Or pretend to. If you’re taken, you two can’t keep this up. He’d understand.”

And yeah, if Louis had hoped his friend would somehow possess the ability to turn back time, that hope vanishes with the words he’d dreaded to hear. The truth is, though, that there’s no turning back time, no getting do-overs in life. He’d made his bed and now he’s got to lie in it. That doesn’t make either of the options any more appealing.

”Too drunk to make that kinda decisions now,” he shakes his head, Zayn’s hand finally falling away from him.

”Yeah, no rush,” his friend offers him a reassuring smile, ”We’ll figure it out.”

Louis doesn’t think he’ll be happy just figuring it out, but it’s all he’s got so he doesn’t argue. Zayn glances over his shoulder at Harry and Nick, his brows pinching together as a somewhat mischievous smile overtakes his lips.

”You’re screwed already, no?” he turns to Louis and tilts his head towards the close pair inside. ”Might as well break that shitshow up.”

The older lets his eyes linger on the point where Grimshaw’s hand is touching Harry’s lower back, lets his completely unwarranted feelings of jealousy and possessiveness roar a little louder, before he’s leaving Zayn behind with a brotherly pat on the man’s back and stepping inside. Liam raises a questioning brow at him when they almost collide in Louis’ haste to get to Harry, but he simply waves his hand and informs the younger that Zayn’s on the balcony, before wading his way through the people to his nephew and Nick.

They’re seemingly in the middle of a funny story, which Louis doesn’t care to hear about, Harry’s head thrown back against the wall as Nick snickers beside him, clearly pleased with himself. His hand’s still on the younger’s back. Louis’ mind has sobered up quite a bit as a result of his talk with Zayn, but he’s still drunk enough not to turn around when Harry catches his eye, expression morphing into an epitome of innocence. Louis sort of hates that he loves the man.

”Evening, gents,” Louis greets, tone easy and light, but there’s an undercurrent he’s sure no one’s missing. ”How are we tonight?”

Nick’s mood of delight turns into something much sourer at Louis’ arrival, but Harry just bats his eyelashes at his uncle. Or friend. Whatever, really. ”Splendid,” he informs Louis, smirking, ”Nick was just telling me a story about when he went to Leeds festival the other year and –.”

”Oh, I’m sure Louis wouldn’t want to hear the details of that, Haz,” Nick flashes him a smile, as fake as they come, ”Wouldn’t want to gloat.”

Louis suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, instead opting for a wave of his hand, before concentrating on the task at hand. His eyes zero on Nick’s hand, gently kneading Harry’s skin through his shirt, and then turns to look at Harry, brows raised. ”Splendid, aye?”

It’s really not something many people would probably pick up on, but Louis can see it clear as a day, the way Harry’s green eyes darken just the slightest bit and his pupils dilate under his best friend’s burning gaze. It’s the effect Louis was aiming for, too, so he counts that as a win. The feeling of power tweaks his insides as Harry licks his lips, tilting his head to lean closer to Nick. He’s playing with Louis, _toying_.

Nick seems oblivious to the game going on between the two, just starts filling the stretching silence with his story from Leeds, but Louis isn’t even listening. He needs Harry to stop touching the older man. He wants Harry to come with him, to come home with him so that he can fuck him senseless and mark him up, even if it’s just for them. Louis reaches out for Harry and takes a hold of his wrist, fingers tightening just enough for it to feel slightly harsh. Just the way Harry likes it, Louis has learned.

”Harry,” he says, interrupting Nick’s rambling speech quite rudely, ”Let’s go home, yeah? ’s getting late.”

Harry’s eyes move from where Louis is holding him to the older’s eyes as his lips pull into an enticing smile. ”What if I don’t wanna?”

Louis can feel his own brow twitching as he takes a step closer, just to have Nick’s hand on his chest. ”He said he doesn’t want to,” the man says, tone admirably resolute.

He doesn’t push, just sort of holds Louis at bay, which. _Funny_ that. Louis lifts his head from where he’s staring at the hand on his chest to first look at Harry’s slightly terrified expression, that is however, coloured by clear amusement, before meeting Nick’s glazed, yet determined eyes. Louis quirks his brows shortly, the narrows his eyes.

”Yeah,” he drawls, ”He really does, though.”

Harry shifts on his feet and Louis _knows_ that shift. Harry’s getting off on this, that little _shit_. Nick’s about to protest when Louis steps away, just enough for the man’s hand to fall off him and then he’s raising his forefinger to shush the oldest of them. ”Give me, like, half a minute. If he still wants to stay – have at it.”

Nick doesn’t get to say anything, before Louis crowds into Harry’s space, subtly – what he thinks must be subtly – pushing his thigh against Harry’s steadily hardening cock and leans close to the taller’s ear. He can feel Harry going tense under him just from this and he’s pretty sure that if he just pulled away now, Harry would already agree to go with him, but then again, where’s the fun in that.

His face is hidden from Nick, so he gently bites on Harry’s earlobe before whispering. ”You’re a tease, Harry Styles. A fucking menace and you _love it,_ ” Louis presses his thigh closer, fingers around Harry’s wrist squeezing harder momentarily, ”I don’t play with bad boys, H. Think you’re being good right about now? Hmm?”

Louis can feel Harry shuddering against him and _God_ does he want to see how well he’s able to hide the way Louis is affecting him, to see his face. He settles on just reveling in the feeling of Harry taking a shaky breath and covertly trying to buck up against Louis’ leg.

”Maybe you should just go home with Grimmy, I’m sure he’s gonna be real nice and gentle with you. You know, ’cause that’s what you so _obviously_ want,” Louis holds a pause, his lips barely ghosting over Harry’s ear, ”I’ll just have to tie someone else to my bed then.”

With that, he completely extracts himself from the taller, fingers releasing their hold around the man’s wrist and body leaving enough space between them for it to feel like a mile-wide gap. Louis takes in the red-bitten lips of Harry’s and the sort of obvious bulge in his tight jeans – though he’s definitely trying to hide it – and just knows he’s got it, he’s got Harry. Nick looks to the younger as well and judging by the downwards tilt of his mouth and his sagging shoulders, Louis thinks Nick knows too.

”Yeah,” Harry breathes out, his voice hoarse and _fuck, yes_ , ”Yeah, I gotta go with Lou. It’s– yeah. Nice seeing you, though, really. I, uh. We’ll call, yes?”

Nick nods, barely has the chance to say his goodbyes when it’s Harry dragging Louis away to grab their coats. The older can’t hold in the laughter as he digs up his phone to call for a cab, while Harry tries to find their clothes from the pile of jackets, grumbling about cock-blockers and equally as frustrating things. Louis manages to get them a car and shoot off a text to Zayn about them taking off, before Harry’s thrusting Louis his jean jacket, simultaneously trying to pull on his own dark blue wool car coat.

Louis keeps laughing all the way until they’re standing on the curb, waiting for the cab to arrive. It’s dark already and quite chilly, too, September half-way through, but Louis feels inexplicably light with the alcohol in his system, with Harry’s disgruntled face suddenly mere inches away from his. The taller’s clutching his hands at the back of Louis’ coat, his lower lip pouting in a way that really shouldn’t look sexy, but in the current light of things, it does.

”I’m mad at you,” the younger grumbles then, forehead leaning against Louis’.

” _You_? Excuse me, but wasn’t it you who kept playing all night long, trying to make me lose my cool?” The smaller squawks, attempting to lean away, but Harry’s hands preventing him.

”Yes, Louis, _me_ ,” the man’s green eye pin him in place, all laughter dying out, ”Took you all bloody night to get me out of there.”

Right. It’s Harry, of course he’d been aiming for this all night long. Of course. And Louis had gone and done exactly what was expected of him – turned jealous and possessive even though it’s not his right. He briefly wonders what does that say about his and Harry’s relationship, but then the cab’s pulling up next to them and Louis detaches himself, save for one hand that’s safely fisted around the collar of the other’s coat.

”Seems like we both have a reason to be mad then,” he says pulling Harry inside the car, before rattling off his address to the driver.

Louis lets his hand smooth over the fabric, his hand resting on Harry’s chest when their eyes meet. Harry’s lips are slightly parted and his emeralds hazed like he’s hanging onto every word Louis says. The older’s lashes flutter, rather involuntarily, before he leans a tiny bit closer, leaving plenty of space between their faces.

”I’ll have to teach you a lesson, baby.”

Then he lets go of Harry and scoots to the other end of the backseat, buckling himself in. The taller man seems frozen in place, but his eyes round and Louis knows he’s not the only one thrumming with expectation, want. They’re both silent for the drive, though the younger keeps shifting in his seat restlessly, Louis still not granting him a look, determined in making this happen the right way – all the way.

When they arrive at his building, Louis pays the cabbie while Harry waits by the door for him. They still don’t speak anything, not until they’re inside the flat, both discarded of their coats and shoes, standing before each other. Harry looks taut with excitement, anticipation, like he’s in for the best ride of his life. Louis tries (and fails) not to let the half-wrecked look on his friend’s face affect him as he takes a step closer, weaving his fingers in his locks, fisting around them. He tugs, experimentally more than anything, and Harry lets out a soft whimper, his eyes falling shut.

He’s so pliant and this is _new_ to Louis, when it comes to Harry. He’d always sort of thought he knew every part of his best friend, but this– this he’d never seen, not really. Louis decides he likes it, easy as that. ”Love,” he tugs again, urging for Harry to open his eyes, his tone gentle and voice quiet.

The younger pries his lids open, canines biting down on his lips. He waits for Louis to go on, attentive, mostly sober, too, but definitely on the border of stepping to a whole other world just about now. Which, _yes_ , but first things first.

”We’re on the same page, yeah?” Louis asks, his eyes flitting between Harry’s.

Harry seemingly gathers himself up as Louis goes on, actively attentive now. ”I wanna be sure you’re okay with whatever we do, okay?” The older strokes the soft skin of Harry’s neck, standing on his tippy toes to kiss the underside of his ear and then the column of his throat, before whispering against his collarbone. ”I’d like to spank you,” Harry’s hand clutches on Louis’ hip then, and Louis can hear his sharp intake of breath, ”Just something light and easy. Then I’ll take real good care of you, too, if you let me.”

It’s audible, the way Harry swallows, before he’s pushing Louis away enough to lock their gazes. The younger’s eyes are earnest and full of want and Louis thinks he could be swept off his feet just by looking at them. He might be, one day.

”I want that,” Harry nods, his voice low and certain, near begging, ”Really, really want that.”

Louis feels unexplainable warmth spread in his chest, he suspects it has something to do with the trust Harry is putting in him, but he can’t be sure when still exposed to the other man’s heavy stare. Louis’ done this before with his ex-boyfriend, knows he absolutely loves it when the time is right, but he’s also about hundred percent sure that nothing will be able to prepare him for how it’ll feel with Harry.

”Safe word?” he murmurs, thumb pressing on Harry’s neck gently.

”The common one? Red?” the taller suggests, voice hoarse and strained.

Louis nods and then that’s that. He doesn’t give himself the time to second guess the level of intimacy they’re about to step on and instead takes on the role he feels like could be his second skin. He takes a hold of Harry’s curls again and tugs, marginally harder than he’d done before and then he’s got Harry shuddering and whimpering, ready to play along. The feeling of power is settling nicely in the pit of Louis’ stomach as he pulls away and orders Harry to the bedroom.

Harry obeys, clearly eager to receive this punishment. Louis follows close after him, the thrilling tension in him already thrumming. But, as said, this is familiar enough to Louis for him to know that there are certain phases that have to happen before he can actually get to where he wants to be. Where he wants Harry to be.

“Take of your pants and briefs,” he says then, voice calm and collected, just on the right side of being strict.

The younger scrambles a little, trying to pull his pants down and Louis has to remind him to keep calm. “You wouldn’t want to appear too eager, now would you?”

Harry shakes his head, slower now, and eyes on Louis’ eyes strictly. He seems to be reading Louis’ mood and movements quite well and that pleases the older. As Harry’s pulling down his briefs, Louis sits at the edge of the bed, tapping his lap.

“Here, over the lap.”

Harry seems to hesitate for a split second, but it’s not hundred percent there, so Louis doesn’t stop, stays in character. The taller does what he is told then, spreading himself over Louis’ lap, posing himself so that his perfect, milky bottom is on top of Louis’ thighs. It looks every bit as inviting as Louis thought it would.

Louis puts his hand on top of the younger’s lower back, pressing down to restrain him for what’s about to come. Since the older has never really believed in any sort of a warm-up when it comes to punishing, he doesn’t do that now either. He makes a sound, though, to get Harry’s attention and says with the lowest voice:

“Ready for your spanking, princess?”

Harry barely gets an affirmative sound out, before Louis is swatting at his ass the first time. The skins is soft under his palm, so he does it another time, raising his hand a little higher, close to his own shoulder, before bringing it down again. Harry lets out pleasing whimpers, his bottom wiggling a little. Louis presses his arm on the younger’s back little harder. 

He repeats this movement a few times, enjoying how the skin on Harry’s ass gets slightly pinker. Around the sixth one, Louis raises his hand clearly higher and actually smacks it down with proper force. Harry winces under his touch and it’s exactly how it should be. Louis knows the younger’s skin is stinging already and the colour on it is getting nicer and nicer by each smack. Up until now, he’s focused on Harry’s perfect, round buttocks, the fleshiest part of them, to see and feel his hand bounce back from the incredibly smooth skin.

The pace of his smacks gets faster as he alternates between the younger’s buttocks and thighs, enjoying the bounce-back and seeing the imprint of his hand on Harry’s skin. All Louis can think about is how absolutely perfect this looks and how powerful it makes him feel. Harry’s completely surrendered to him now, all wiggling has seized and he’s letting out small sobs and whimpers, his left hand fisting the duvet.

Louis knows they’re getting close to the actual good part, so he makes and effort to lock Harry’s legs in place with his own legs and adds some pressure on the younger’s back. “You’re gonna be so sore tomorrow, you won’t be able to sit down.”

That evokes a bigger whimper from Harry, before Louis is raising his hand again, higher this time and ready to swat the younger with full force. When his hand meets the skin for the first time with his chosen force, it’s still quite cool, but as he goes on and increases his pace, it’s starting to feel warm and eventually hot under his palm. Harry doesn’t try to trash much, clearly pliant and out of this world, receiving his punishment so well Louis almost wants to praise him already.

He doesn’t.

When Harry’s cries are finally getting louder and Louis’ own hand is getting that sting as well, he lays a couple more, less intense swats on Harry’s bottom, admiring the delicious pinkness of the skin and the burning flesh. After that, he releases the younger from his hold, allowing him to cool down. Louis waits until Harry’s breathing is more stable before talking.

“You can get up when you feel like it, love.”

Harry stays there for a bit longer, his skin sweaty against Louis pants. Louis can feel himself being hard, but he ignores it because that wasn’t the point here. When Harry finally gets up, his legs are a little shaky and his eyes red-rimmed, lips pink from having been bitten.

“Lay down on the bed, baby, I’ll go get you some water and then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

Harry nods and crawls on the bed, letting Louis pull the duvet on him half-way. Louis, a little hesitantly, leaves the room to get a class of water. As he comes back, Harry looks quite small on the bed. He makes the younger drink the water nonetheless, before slipping under the duvet with him. It comes admirably natural to Harry, how he snuggles into Louis and lets Louis card his fingers through his hair.

“You were so good, love. You took it so well. Such a good boy,” Louis speaks with a low, quiet voice, words falling straight on Harry’s soft hair.

They stay like that for some time, Louis speaking comforting words and letting Harry seek the safety from him. All in all, the older feels like the purpose of the punishment has been met, but he is a little worried about how Harry had felt. However, he doesn’t want to rush the younger, knowing how important the aftercare part is, no matter what.

Harry does speak eventually, his voice a little hoarse from the crying. “Thank, Lou,” is what he says first.

His eyes are adorably sincere and the warmth that fills Louis is indescribable. “Thank you, Haz,” Louis says, cheesy as hell, “You did so well.”

Harry seems a little coy, but he does take the praise.

“How was it for you?” Louis asks, fingers still in the younger’s hair.

“Perfect,” Harry immediately replies, “I haven’t done that before, I don’t know why. It’s, yeah. I felt really, really free.”

Louis smiles at that. “That’s good. We can try it again sometime if you’d like? As a praise rather than a punishment?”

“Could we? Like, you could even go a bit harder, I wouldn’t mind,” Harry smiles now as well, his rosy cheeks and bright eyes just so unbelievable to Louis.

The older laughs, nodding. “Okay, sure. We’ll do that.”

Then Harry snuggles back into his side, sighing contently and Louis honestly doesn’t think he could be much happier. Sure, he’s fucked up and this whole situation is all but right, but he can’t help the overflowing feelings of pride and love inside him.

Maybe Louis just is a lost cause.

–

_August, 2015_

_Another horrid retching sound echoes around the dark alley, bouncing off the walls, though Harry barely hears it. His throat is burning and his guts twisting with the acid and remains of his joke of a dinner. His eyes are half-lidded and blurry from the tears gathering up in the corners of his eyes, but somewhere to his left he registers movement. Harry almost scrambles up, ready to run if need be, but then Niall’s soothing, if worried, voice comes through to him._

_”Jesus, Harry.”_

_In any other situation, Harry might have made an inquiring joke about the fake glasses perched on his friend’s nose, but not today. Not now. Not when his stomach is trying to claw its way out and his nostrils are bristling with the remains of bile that had burst through. Everything feels a little fuzzy still, but at least Harry’s brain is sobering up._

_Niall crouches beside him, revulsion clear on his face as he eyes the sick on the asphalt. Despite this, he soothingly rubs Harry’s back between his shoulder blades. The touch is warm in the chilly night and Harry doesn’t have the slightest clue how long he’d been emptying his stomach out here, just barely even remembers texting Niall to come and get him. Harry’s whole body is rigid, sporadic shivers wrecking through him every now and then, even though he thinks the worst of the vomiting part is over._

_It doesn’t ease his mind much, well aware that as soon as he’s capable of coherent speech again, he’ll have to make decisions, give out an explanation. ’_ What was it this time? What did he do?’ _Harry’s tired of trying to explain and even more so, he’s just plain tired._

_”Where is he?” Asks Niall then, his voice on the right side of irritated._

_Harry wishes things were different. ”Gone,” he rasps out, shrugging and falling backwards on his bum, hands landing behind him to support his weight._

_Niall’s brows knit together and his mouth forms an unhappy line, Harry’s fully aware how he’s biting down on his tongue. Maybe he’d have said something, if not for the violent shudder that hits Harry at that exact moment, forcing him to double over and hold on to his knees. Despite having done this countless times, it seems, Harry bitterly thinks, that his body just will not get used to it. Weak, is what he is._

_”Look, you’re clearly not fine,” Niall’s tone doesn’t give leeway for arguing, but Harry does so anyway._

_”I’m okay,” he lifts his hand and head, meets his best friend’s eyes, hoping his pale face and glazed over eyes would magically make him seem healthy looking rather than sick, ”This is- It’s not as bad as it looks, okay? Ni, you really don’t have to worry.”_

_Niall’s frown deepens, but now there’s an edge of true worry in his blue eyes as well. Great, just what Harry needed. Another person worrying over him._ What a mess _, his brain gloats at him as he tries to focus on the other man beside him, tries to focus on looking alive._

_”Of fucking course I worry,” he fumes and somewhat randomly, Harry thinks his thighs must be burning from the position he’s in. ”You text me at three a.m. and I find you like this,” the older shakes his head, voice going softer, ”I’m your best mate, H. And I know this happens- Like, this isn’t the first or last time. I’m just not the one who usually picks you up.”_

_Harry knows Niall knows. Niall’s known for as long as this has been a thing, which is over a year now. At first it was purely Harry’s incompetence at holding his liquor, but then, well. Then he met Will and_ fuck _, he doesn’t want to think about what that means, what he should do or shouldn’t do. His head hurts and he can’t stop thinking about how transparent he’s been if Niall’s realized this happens more often than Harry would care to admit._

_”It’s not that bad, honestly,” Harry croaks out, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands, ”I just need a place to crash. Can’t go to Alice like this, ’s bound to end in a fight.”_

_His friend seems to ponder, eyes wary and the way he holds himself gives away every little bit of worry he’s feeling. ”Can I just call Louis? He’s familiar with this thing, I just- I don’t want to, like, take you to mine and then you’ll die during the night. You’re shivering all the time, for fuck’s sake.”_

_”Don’t,” Harry’s voice comes out sharper than he thought would be possible at the moment and he can feel another kind of burn settling in his throat, the tell-tale prickling in his eyes boding tears. ”He doesn’t have to worry about me right now. He’s got his own life, stuff to worry over. Just- just don’t call, Louis.”_

_Niall slowly gets up from the crouch and shakes out his legs that must be numb by now. Hesitantly, Harry meets his gaze, afraid what he’ll see there – if it’s pity, suspicion or worse, the dawn of realization. The realization how much Harry needs to stay in Louis’ good grace, needs to hold onto that smallest bit of respect the older might still hold for him, even after everything they’ve been through together; the understanding of why Harry always has to sneak out before Louis opens his eyes, the need to avoid the worried questions and hurried explanations._

_But Niall just looks lost, confused and shakes his head. ”I’ll stay up then. All night.”_

_Harry knows Niall’s just trying to guilt trip him into calling Louis and even though he does feel awful for making Niall go through this, he just can’t have Louis seeing him like this. Not again. ”If you think it’s a must,” he murmurs, pushing himself up on unsteady feet, only to heavily lean on his friend._

_They take a few staggering steps, before Harry’s feet start somewhat working. Though they’re silent, Harry’s sober enough to know that there’ll be questions. If not now, then in the morning. And if not in the morning, then as soon as Niall will be able to hunt him down. Louis might let Harry run away from it, but Niall never will. The older sighs next to him, hooking his hand with Harry’s._

_”I love you. You know that, right?” he offers, tone more serious than Harry’s probably ever heard it._

_The taller nods, his grip on Niall tightening. ”Love you, too,” he hesitates, ”Thank you.”_

_Their gazes meet and it’s so blatantly clear how much it carves the older that Harry hasn’t been honest with him. There’s a glimmer of hurt in Niall’s eyes and it’s enough to burst any self-preserving bubble Harry has been building around himself for quite a while now. ”I’ll tell you in the morning,” he promises, while his stomach burns and throat closes up._

_Niall holds their stare for a beat, before averting his eyes, nodding. ”And I’ll still be there after.”_

_The words are soft, barely audible in the night, but they’re there. And Harry’s really not worried about Niall leaving him, not really if he’s here, taking care of the younger. It’s other things he’s worried about, like feelings. Feelings that might crash through and break him, to bring out the weakest form that Harry Styles comes in. And that isn’t a pretty sight. He’s emotional, sure, but there’s always that one level no one ever really gets to see._

_Harry glances at his friend through bleary eyes and swallows. But Niall would stay, right? He’s Harry’s best mate, he’d never abandon Harry, even when he becomes this pathetic, insecure, weeping mess? A shaky breath falls from his lips and then it’s Niall holding on tighter._

_Yeah, Niall would stay._

_–_

Louis hears from Adam again.

It’s somewhat unexpected, even though they had a good time catching up and they’d even promised to stay in touch when they’d separated at the end of the night. Louis had fully expected it to be one of those empty promises that you would throw at someone that was once a huge part of your life, but hasn’t been there for years now. It’s common courtesy, he’d thought and then that had been that, when it came to Adam.

But Louis hears from him again, only a week after Zayn’s party. Now, if that party hadn’t happened, Louis might have declined Adam’s offer to take him to see _Billy Elliot_ in one of the smaller theaters in the city, but as it is, the party very much happened. Zayn and his talk happened, Harry and spanking happened. The thought still sends a rush of adrenaline through Louis’ body, shocking every single nerve-ending to life, no matter where he is at and what he’s doing.

This worries Louis, is the thing.

After what Zayn had suggested – or more like stated, because really it wasn’t even a choice to make –, about Louis getting a boyfriend or at least someone else to fuck on the side, Louis had done the exact opposite and jumped into bed with Harry once again. It’s not like he can regret it, not like he _wants to_ either, but the strings that are wrapped around his beaten heart are getting painfully tight and Louis seriously worries for the lump of a muscle that is so fucking keen on making him dependent on the closest human being that is absolutely out of limits.

So, Louis accepts Adam’s invite, even though there’s this feeling in his gut that he can’t quite ignore. He tries, though, and that’s what matters right now.

”I don’t know what to wear,” is what Louis says when he opens the door to Zayn, mere three hours before the date.

The raven-haired man raises a brow, before silently following Louis to his bedroom where chaos has taken place. Zayn must know it’s serious, the problem, when he sees the state of the sanctum that usually is very well protected from the mess that on most days covers every other inch of the flat. (Or at least used to, before Harry moved in). Louis has a thing with keeping his bedroom spotless, something he’s never quite understood himself, nor cared to explain.

”O-kay,” Zayn eventually drawls as he clears a space for his lanky body on the bed, items of clothing falling on the floor. ”So, this really is code black then?”

Louis’ standing in front of the mirror, his hair still slightly damp from the shower he took before and his chest bare, showing all of his tattoos. ”Yeah, I told you,” he whines, hands squeezing his bum that’s covered with black jean-fabric. ”How is a dude supposed to dress up for his sort-of-date with an ex that he hasn’t really known in years?”

”The hell am I supposed to know. ’s not like I have experience in this,” Zayn scoffs, but his eyes are already scouring the mess of clothes that are littered on the floor, searching for the right one.

Louis lets him do his thing, eyes trained on his own image in the mirror. He thinks he might have lost some weight, his abs a little bit more prominent than a month or two back, and he’s fairly sure that has something to do with Harry and his cooking. Speaking of the devil, the bruises have nearly faded from his neck, he notices, but thinks maybe it’s better to cover them up anyways. For a reason or another Louis feels like the night would end on a bad note if these love bites were to come up again with Adam. The queasy feeling in his gut returns then, a little stronger.

”D’you think this is a good idea?”

Zayn looks up from where he’s crouching on the floor, examining one of Louis’ band t-shirts, probably to admire it rather than considering it as an option. Their eyes meet in the mirror and Zayn’s arms fall down from where they were holding up the shirt. ”Do you?”

Louis can’t help the eye-roll or the tweak of frustration at his friend’s cryptic way of speaking. Louis hates it when he has to work for the answers, absolutely loathes it. And yet, he still considers the Pakistani man to be one of his best mates. Funny that. ”Dunno,” he admits, ”Think I gotta do it anyway.”

The older nods, like he agrees, before he throws away the shirt and picks up another one. ”I think you should go. I think you need this.”

”Yeah,” he muses quietly, eyes returning to the love bites on his neck.

Zayn seems to notice as well, standing up with a shirt in his hands. ”He ain’t really subtle, is he?”

Louis snorts. ”When has he ever been. Harry doesn’t do subtle.”

”Where is he, anyways?” Zayn asks as he hands Louis a navy-blue button down.

”Study group, I think,” Louis shrugs, sliding the shirt on and buttoning it up. He looks a lot younger with the colour on, he reckons, and tells Zayn as much.

The older nods. ”I think you should put your hair up in a quiff. Groom that beard of yours a little.”

And Louis does, all the while listening Zayn talk about how he’s finally going to be able to drop his job at the tech company and start working with advertising. He helps Louis with the quiff and tells him about how Liam wants to meet his parents, wants to travel up to Bradford and how Zayn’s not sure if he’s ready for that what with his conservative family and all.

”It’s not like they don’t know I’m gay, right,” the man explains, hands carding through Louis’ hair with intent, ”They’re just a bit apprehensive of my boyfriends. Not that they’ve met any before. But you know, I don’t know if Liam’s ready for the pressure.”

”Isn’t that for him to decide?” Louis asks when Zayn finally pulls away, admiring his work.

”He says he’s ready,” the older mutters, tone suggesting he doesn’t agree one bit, ”He doesn’t know what he’s stepping into, though.”

Louis walks back to the body-length mirror and takes a look at his own image what feels like for the hundredth time tonight. He looks even younger now, like he’s twenty-three again, with his hair pushed away from him face, thrown to the right side in a casual quiff and with the stubble Zayn had left framing his angular face. He looks good, Louis thinks.

He turns back to Zayn, the man sitting on the bed again, waiting for judgement. ”I think I’m good to go,” Louis nods, sounding more confident than he’s feeling. ”What comes to Liam.. Just let him decide, Z. He’s a big boy. If you’ve told him, in all honesty, what your family is like, then it’s up to him from there on.”

A tentative smirk plays on the older’s lips as he keeps his amber eyes locked with Louis’, slightly shaking his head. ”Sometimes you say these things and I think that you actually have a brain. But then I remember you’re also casually fucking the love of your life, even though there’s just about a zero chance it’ll ever turn into anything real.”

And _ouch_.

”What did I ever do to you?” Louis snaps, defensive mode full on, just like that.

Zayn sighs as he gets up and leads the way out of the bedroom, Louis trailing in his wake. ”I’m just trying to keep you grounded, aight? I know you, Louis. I know your stupid, hopeful heart and I know it’s already planning a summer wedding and seven kids and whatnot. Just trying to look out for you.”

Louis would argue, he truly would, but Zayn’s not wrong. He rarely is, even though Louis would never admit this out loud. Instead, he takes a seat opposite Zayn around the kitchen table. The older stole a beer for himself from the fridge and is now nursing it, both hands wrapped around the cold bottle. Louis feels tired, suddenly.

”I know, you’re a good mate,” he eventually says, eyes trained down on his lap and mind whirring like always, these days. ”Seems like I can’t win here, innit.”

Their eyes meet over the table. Zayn shrugs.

”Depends on what you count as a win. If I were you, I’d count it as win if you’d get Harry to extract himself from the situation on his own will, amicably. If you’d go back to how things were before.”

Louis wants to laugh, because isn’t that just a _joke_. As if he’d ever be able to go back to not touching Harry, not kissing him and cuddling him to sleep after the past few weeks he’s had. Zayn knows this though, of course, and Louis knows he’s just trying to push certain buttons. The buttons Louis has very, very determinedly steered clear of himself, because he’s not ready to admit that for things to get better, for things to change, he’d actually have to move on. Quite literally.

”Right. Well, one thing at a time, I guess.”

Zayn’s eyes soften, then, and he leans closer, elbows supported on the wooden surface. ”You got me, Lou. I’ll support you, no matter what.”

A smile stretches over the older’s lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He tries, though. ”Thanks.”

Before the situation can turn into a mushy _bro-I-love-you_ moment, the lock on the door turns and it’s pushed open, Harry’s call for Louis heard in the small flat. ”In the kitchen,” Louis answers, a whole new kind of nervousness coming over his body.

Zayn’s expression is firm, but supportive when Harry comes through the door.

”Oh, hi Zayn,” he greets, before oh-so-casually, leaning down to peck Louis’ cheek.

_Oh_. That’s what Louis thinks, because he’s not sure if this has been a thing for a long time now, if it’s even happened before this. He can’t remember, can’t tell. To Zayn’s credit, he doesn’t look nearly as surprised as anyone else would, only greets Harry before getting up and announcing his leaving.

”I gotta pick Liam up from the pub, we’re going to see the newest Marvel movie.”

”Have fun,” Louis and Harry say in unison, before Zayn disappears from the kitchen and the flat with one last stern look in Louis’ way.

”You look fancy,” Harry points out as soon as they’re alone, taking Zayn’s place and gulping down the last of the man’s beer.

Louis scratches the back of his head and hums under his breath. ”Yeah, yeah. I’m going to see _Billy Elliot_ with Adam, so. Figured I should looks presentable, at least.”

The younger’s brows rise and he blinks twice before saying anything. Louis feels like that isn’t a good thing. ”You shaved for him. It’s a date?”

_God_ , Louis thinks. This shouldn’t feel awkward, because they’re not dating. They’ve not made any promises to each other, they’re- they’re nothing really. But it _does_ feel awkward, if Louis lets himself think about the fact that his dick was buried in Harry’s perky little arse just a week ago, that his palms left the said arse flaming red and that Harry had moaned like an angel.

”Yeah,” he draws the word out a little, getting up when he glances at the clock on the wall. ”I should get going, we talked about getting coffee before.”

Harry’s eyes follow him as he picks up his wallet from the counter and then the man physically follows him to the hallway, where Louis puts on his shoes and slides his keys in the pocket of his jacket. It reminds Louis of something that happened weeks ago, when he’d gone out with Matthew. They’d stood much like this, but somehow the situation had been completely different. Louis hadn’t felt _bad_ for going, hadn’t felt like he was invalidating something that had happened between them. He knows he’s not doing that now either, not really.. except, in a way he is.

In a way he’s now making it loud and clear that whatever they’re doing, or have been doing – it’s been something that could’ve happened between any two friends. It’s something that Louis doesn’t hold in a special place in his heart: it’s just another good fuck, another good kiss. Nothing more. Only, Louis doesn’t think so at all.

”This getting serious then?” Harry asks, voice low and somehow off, Louis notes.

”It’s just a date,” he says and stuffs his hand into the pockets of his jean jacket.

Harry’s leaning against the wall, not more than two feet separating them. Louis feels like they’re a lot further apart from each other.

”D’you think you’ll get back together?” Harry asks, almost insistent, as if he didn’t hear Louis’ previous words at all.

Louis refuses to dwell on it, refuses to let his _stupid heart_ call shots for him. He needs to stand his ground, Zayn certainly thinks so. ”He lives in Manchester, H. I hardly think one date means anything.”

He doesn’t say no, is the thing. Harry’s blank expression is more telling than it probably should be, but Louis knows Harry’s understood. And Louis hates it that he knows the man so well, knows that what Harry most likely is taking away from this, is that Louis’ still pushing a wedge between them. He probably thinks Louis’ still uncomfortable with them being family thing and yeah, Louis will probably always be a bit bothered by that. But right now, it’s more about that exact thing starting to mean less and less in the scheme of everything.

Louis reminds himself, as he looks in Harry’s borderline pleading eyes, that the reason he’s doing this, is because he’s losing the threads he’s been holding onto for all these years. Will’s gone, distance is gone and now, being related isn’t an excuse either, he’s got no choice but to create a barrier himself. And to hope that he doesn’t lose his best friend in the midst of building that barrier.

”Yeah, yeah,” Harry clears his throat, then, and it seems like he’s come out of whatever he was thinking just before, the grim mood fading. ”Uh, good luck, I guess?”

The older’s lips pull into a thin line as he nods. His hands are itching to touch, but he doesn’t. ”Thanks. What’re your plans?”

Harry moves away from the wall and pushes his hand through his slowly curling hair, taking a couple steps back towards the living space. ”I’m going out with Niall, I think. Clubbing. Maybe Soho.”

Louis hums and reaches out for the door. ”Be careful, yeah?”

Harry nods. ”Have fun, Louis.”

They share one last look. ”You, too, H.”

*

The musical is amazing, the company is good and by the end of it all, Louis has been able to push Harry to the back of his mind. He’s been able to remind himself why dating actually is fun, why dating _Adam_ used to be so good. They’re sort of effortless together, Louis thinks. They share the same interests from teaching to football and then to musicals. Both of them think London is, in the end, a pretty shitty place to live in and that Northern England is where the life’s at. They share many things and by the end of the night, Louis is sort of hoping they’d be sharing a bed as well.

”This has been fun,” Adam says, his grin not hiding anything and Louis can relate.

They’re standing at the entrance of Charing Cross Tube station and this is where the other one has to make the move, before their ways part. Well, this is where Adam needs to ask Louis for a night cap, because Louis can’t very well invite the man to his and Harry’s flat. That’d be a disaster.

”Yeah, I had good time,” Louis nods, smile more of a smirk by now as he flutters his lashes. ”Wouldn’t mind if it didn’t end here, either.”

Adam’s eyes spark with pleasant surprise, his canines pressing to his lower lip and hand reaching out to touch Louis’ waist lightly. ”No?”

The younger shakes his head. ”No.”

Adam opens his mouth to, what Louis hopes, form an invitation back to the hotel he’s staying at for the weekend, but Louis’ phone interrupts his words. It only makes Adam laugh, though, as Louis lifts a finger and apologizes sheepishly.

Only, the light feeling is gone in a faction of a second when he sees whose name is flashing on the screen of his iPhone. The clock is already past midnight and Harry said he’d be going out with Niall, which means.. Louis’ eyes dart up to meet Adam’s, his expression still open and curious. Louis apologizes again, before picking up the call and taking one, pointless step back from his date, the man’s hand falling away. Adam’s still smiling, his finger on his own lips in a playful manner. Any other time, Louis would laugh.

_”Lou?”_ Harry’s voice is hoarse and thick, like he’s been crying.

”Hi. What’s up?” Louis asks, tone lighter than he feels, the horrible worry already wrenching his gut with its merciless iron grip.

_”I.. Where are you, Lou? What time’s it? I, Niall’s not here and ’s cold,”_ the younger is mumbling, incoherent and it’s _so familiar_. Louis hates it.

”H, I’m on a date, remember? Adam, yeah?”

The line goes silent for a moment or two and Louis just hopes Harry didn’t hang up on him, is just about to check too, when the man sniffles. Louis’ heart stops for a second.

_”Yeah, sorry, sorry. I, I forgot. Jus’ go and ’ave fun, Lou,”_ Harry is honest to God sobbing and Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever find a sound that makes him more anxious than this.

Adam looks more hesitant now, but he’s still standing close by and offering Louis a small smile when their eyes meet. Louis mouths another sorry his way, before focusing on Harry again.

”Love, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

It takes several moments for Harry to stop sobbing, to actually get a coherent answer. _”Life’s shit. Alice called again today, she hates me and my choices. Niall’s left me alone and Will,”_ a loud, whiny sob carries through the phone and Louis has to press his eyes closed, his hand gripping the device, _”I saw Will. I’m such a shit person, Lou. And now you’re there, far away again. So fucking far away.”_

Three heart beats, Louis counts. It takes him three heart beats and a sobbing Harry to forget whatever him and Zayn were talking about before and that should absolutely terrify him, and it probably will tomorrow when he’ll be getting the lecture from Zayn for not going with Adam, but right now, all he can think of is Harry and the way he sounds, _so broken_ and alone.

”Are you in Soho?”

Harry doesn’t reply, just cries a bit louder and Louis is getting impatient. ”Are you in Soho, H? I’m coming to pick you up. Which club?”

_”No, jus’.. No, you’re on a date, I don’t wanna bother. ’m sorry I called, Lou.”_

”Don’t you fucking dare hang up on me, Styles,” Louis growls into the phone, his heart beating erratic and making him sweat. ”If you do that, I swear to God I’m moving to fucking India and you’ll never hear from me again.”

_”Lou..,”_ Harry whispers and sounds almost agitated. Louis needs to see him.

His voice goes softer when he speaks next, even though Adam’s already looking at him with sadness in his eyes – and it’s not something Louis hasn’t seen before. It’s familiar, much too familiar. ”H, I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”

_”The Black Panther,_ ” Harry says eventually, voice low and small, _”Please hurry, Lou.”_

The call ends and suddenly Louis is a lot more aware of his date. The expression on Adam’s face is something between frustrated and wistful and now there’s so much space between them that Louis actually feels sort of cold. It’s fucking perfect.

”I need to..,” Louis trails of his thumb pointing in the direction of the Tube, Adam’s nodding.

”I can’t say that I understand, because I still quite don’t,” the older says, voice not unkind but not as curious as it once was when they talked about this, ”But it’s Harry, right?”

Louis’ lips press together when he nods, his hands squeezing the phone in his hands. ”I’m sorry.”

Adam offers him a half-smile, shrugging. ”Some things don’t change, I suppose. You don’t have to apologize.”

”It’s not like that, Adam,” Louis tries, but his voice isn’t convincing anyone, not even himself.

”I don’t think you’re apologizing for having to go, just so you know,” Adam by goes his words, hands now in his jeans’ pockets as he takes a step back, ”Call me, if you ever find it in you to walk the other way.”

Louis knows he should just let Adam go, should just let the man walk away and not be _that dick_ , but he can’t stop the words from spilling out. ”What am I,” he pauses and Adam turns to face him, several feet between them now and people passing by in groups, ”apologizing for, then?”

Adam raises his brows just a little, lowering his head. ”I think,” he starts, ”I think you’re apologizing for loving someone who’ll always be number one for you. You’re apologizing for not being able to stop putting him first, even though you know you should.”

And then the older walks away and Louis can’t make himself move for several seconds. Once he does, he understands that something’s shifting. He doesn’t like it, but it’s happening and if it weren’t for Harry waiting for him, he’d most likely fall into a panic mode, but for the sake of his best friend, he keeps it together.

He has to.

*

Harry’s been vomiting for the past forty minutes and Louis’ been sitting next to him on the floor of the bathroom, rubbing his back in slow motions. Between the horrid retching sounds, there’s sobs and mumbled apologies, self-loathing and -hatred. Louis only shushes him, head leaned against the cold tile wall, the bright light hurting his eyes.

It goes on for a while longer, Louis’ mind staying empty. Empty, because he’s done this so many times. He’s done this so many times that he knows how long it’ll take for Harry’s upset stomach to calm down. He knows how much water Harry has to drink for him to feel even remotely alive the next morning. But worst of all, he remembers all the words Harry’s now spewing out as well. Remembers how he hates on himself, how useless the man thinks he is and that part never gets easier. Listening to it, it never gets easier.

Eventually, Harry stops puking and Louis helps him to bed along with some Advil and the bottle he keeps in his fridge, just for these instances. He hasn’t had to pick Harry up in months now, but he always has one half-litre bottle of unopened water in the fridge, whenever he has to wake up in the middle of the night to go and fetch Harry from wherever the man is. Harry doesn’t protest, just drinks his water and takes the painkillers – he stopped fighting Louis on it years ago.

These are the nights that sort of make Louis numb to all of it. To his feelings for Harry, to what his life is, to what Harry’s life is. Because it’s _shit_ , to be quite honest. They’re both stuck in some sort of a loop, separate ones that just interlace at some point, but stuck nonetheless. Neither one is getting any better at figuring out how to leave the loop behind, neither one’s brave enough to really even try.

It’s numbing, because it hurts so fucking much, to watch Harry like this. It hurts because Louis thinks he might have the right words, only he can’t say them. He can’t, because he’s not entitled to. It’s not his place, not his job. Not his _anything_. Instead, he has to watch Harry sweat through his alcohol induced haze, has to listen to him cry and bash himself.

Louis doesn’t know what he’ll do in the morning, because this time Harry will, inevitably, be there when he wakes up. There’s no place for him to go, no place to run away to. And Louis knows Harry will want to. With a sigh, he crawls in the bed and under the covers beside Harry and thinks how much has changed, yet how little.

Months ago, these were the times Louis could allow himself to watch Harry, touch his face and murmur soft, loving words without having to worry about Harry remembering them. He could cuddle the man and not feel horrible because he wanted to do so, in the morning, but feeling horrible because he did so, without even asking. It was simpler then, as crazy as that sounds. Because now, he can caress the man’s cheek and he can hug him, but he can’t really _touch._ He can’t touch with intent and meaning behind it, he’s still not allowed to. He never will be.

That night, Louis falls asleep holding a half-asleep Harry’s hand. He falls asleep thinking that he was in knee-deep shit when Harry moved in, but now he’s completely drowning in it and there’s only two ways to cope: let it get you or swim and run. Louis doesn’t have it in him to decide.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s way past midday when Harry finally drags himself out of bed and into the living room, where Louis is playing a game of FIFA, still slightly sweaty from his jog earlier. He hadn’t showered yet, didn’t want to disturb Harry’s sleep even though the younger’s pain is self-induced, and maybe, if the night had ended on a different note, Louis would’ve even been a menace on purpose and blasted Adele and sang off-key while taking the shower he never did. But, as it is, Harry appears at the entrance of the living space looking like someone had ran over him with a lawnmower. Somehow Louis still finds him attractive and his heart jolts.

”Morning,” Harry speaks first, voice low and hoarse from what must’ve been at least a dozen shots and cigarettes.

Louis raises his brows and kindly points out that technically, it’s already afternoon since it’s past twelve. Harry doesn’t argue, only grumbles something about taking a shower and disappears back to where he came from. Louis watches him go and suddenly he just doesn’t feel like playing anymore. Instead, he feels inexplicable anger and frustration rousing in his stomach, which maybe shouldn’t be odd considering how his nephew- his _best friend_ – had ruined a perfectly nice date-night and in the wake of it, also Louis’ chances of getting laid. Not to mention all the throwing up.

But it is odd, Louis thinks as he shuts off the PlayStation and grabs his phone, contemplating whether he should get out of the flat for the day, to give Harry the space he usually requires after these things. It’s Sunday, Louis could easily ask Stan out for a pint and a game of pool, which would inevitably lead to another round and then another and so on. Just about enough to keep Louis occupied for the day. But then again, this time’s different.

Sure, Louis might feel puzzled by the anger, _irritation_ , that he feels towards the younger or towards the situation they’ve been placed in again. Not that Louis isn’t to be blamed at all, because in the end it’s him who crawls back to the curly lad at the end of the day, no matter what’s the occasion. But still. Aren’t they both what people call ’adults’ by now? Haven’t they done this dance enough times to know that ignoring the problem clearly won’t make it go away?

It’s maybe not a fully conscious decision to stay in and confront Harry, but it happens anyways.

As soon as the younger shows up in the kitchen where Louis has made them both some toast and poured them two glasses of orange juice – the only true cure to a hangover from hell – Louis nails him into his seat with what he hopes is a stern look. Harry doesn’t notice at first, eyes still bleary and surrounded by purplish bags from the rough night, but when he does meet Louis’ gaze, he seems to wither, just a little.

”Are we gonna talk ’bout it?” Louis starts off, teeth now nibbling on the toast that Harry immediately forgets about when the words are out.

Louis has seen Harry hesitant plenty of times: when the younger had had to comply to one of Alice’s whims when they were still younger, when he was paraded around as the _son_ in one of the bigger parties of the Tomlinson family only to be introduced as a family friend at the next one, when he’d asked Louis to kiss him when they were just kids and Harry had been figuring out his sexuality. But right now- right now he looks to be in pain with how much he wishes not to be here. And Louis doesn’t get it, not really, because aren’t they best mates?

”Do we have to?” Harry all but huffs, face angled away from Louis and fingers fiddling with the juice glass.

A tiny bit of fury is released inside Louis then, and he slams his palm on the table, startling Harry enough to look at him again. His green eyes are wide and surprised, but Louis is done with being toyed with. If Harry wants to get close again, then they have to go all in. Not just physically, but with everything.

” _Yes_ ,” Louis hisses and leans closer over the table, eyes ablaze, ”Yes, we have to. I’m sick of this. Sick of doing this with you.”

Harry deflates seemingly, his shoulders hunching as he slumps against the chair and his teeth biting down on his lower lip. He looks young and small and it’s so fucking unfair that Louis has to be the one to force this on them, but he _has_ to. There is no way he can keep picking the man up from dark alleys, drunk out of his mind and crying. There is no way Louis can keep watching the man wreck himself over and over again.

”Sorry,” Harry whispers as if it pains him to speak, but he clears his throat. ”You don’t have to do that. I- I’ll just not call you anymore, ’s fine. You’re not my keeper, I get it.”

_Bewildered_. That is how Louis feels, how he hopefully looks as well, because _what the actual bloody fuck_? Harry looks sad, like a beaten puppy and does the boy really think it’s a bother for Louis to take care of him? Louis studies the way Harry keeps his eyes downcast, how his lower lip wobbles just a little – how he looks like this is what he’s been afraid of hearing for quite some time now and--.

”H, I’m not your keeper, no,” he reins in the new kind of anger, the kind of anger that comes when you realise your closest mate doesn’t actually _trust_ you and has just been waiting for you to walk away for years now, ”But I _am_ your fucking best friend, aren’t I?”

Harry lifts his head slowly, his brows knitting in time with the motion. He opens his mouth only to close it, no words finding their way out as if he were confused. ”Yes?”

Louis leans even closer and he knows that the corners of his lips are tilted downwards and his shoulders tense, knows he should maybe go about this a bit more kindly but _fuck_ if he isn’t done with the sweet, doting way he’s been doing this for years now.

”Then can you fucking get it into your thick skull that you are not. A. Bother. You’re my bloody _best mate_ ,” _And so much more,_ ”And I’d do anything for you. The fuck do you think of me? Am I really that kinda person who’d keep picking someone up from the gutter for years on end, just because _I’m that nice_?”

”But-.”

”No ’buts’,” Louis scoffs, indignant, ”I’m fucking serious. If you want to keep doing this, drinking until you pass out, I’ll keep fetching you as many times as you need me to,” Harry’s eyes look watery and the skin around his nose is reddening threateningly, but Louis keeps going, ”But I worry about you, you dickhead. You never tell me why I have to pick you up, I’m left assuming the worst-case scenario. I know you well, but even I can’t ravel all the mysteries that you so loyally hide under that brown mop of hair of yours. You gotta let me in, if you want us to be _close_.”

Louis’ words are pointed although his tone gets softer towards the end, Harry’s eyes turning to look at his lap and a few stray tears leave trails on his cheeks. And Louis wants to reach over the table and touch him, but it feels like that wouldn’t be enough, because no, he doesn’t want to drive Harry away – just the opposite. So, he gets up and takes the seat next to the man, arm tentatively wrapping around his broad shoulders, coaxing for Harry to lean on Louis.

The man eventually does so with a sniffle that indicates he’s going to say something. ”It’s loads of things,” he starts, quiet, ”Mainly I just feel really fucked up, like, all the time. I don’t really belong, y’know? I don’t know a thing about my biological family and even though Alice and Viv and even Kevin took me in, it’s not the same. They didn’t _ask_ for me and there never was that bond between us,” Harry sounds so incredibly anguished that Louis has to squeeze him tighter, has to bite his tongue to not blurt out anything, sensing that the younger’s not done yet.

”And then we moved to London, left behind, well, _you_ , the only person I ever really felt at home with. It was shit, complete shit. I just, I kept getting lost, even when you moved here. You had your own life and I was stuck in mine, it just--. Shit,” Harry inhales deep, his body slightly trembling under Louis’ arm and hand that’s holding on to the younger, ”Uni, too.. I just can’t find a place. Feels like I’m always looking for something or someone to anchor myself to and I can’t find it, them. Besides, is there anyone who’d care about me enough? Like, my own mum didn’t want me. Who would--.”

”Shut up, you prick,” Louis mutters and presses his lips in the man’s hair, words muffled when he continues, ”I care. I care a shit ton. Niall does, too. And if you’d just let people get closer, like the right people… H, I know they’d love you, so much. You talked about me keeping you at bay, but it’s you, too. You don’t show anyone the real you, y’know? Always just the fun side, right? I’ve done that, too.”

Harry sniffles, but it’s sounds a lot drier now. He still hides his face in Louis’ neck and wraps his arms around the older’s waist in an awkward angle and Louis holds onto him. He can’t stop thinking about the _anchor_ , because that’s what Louis is, right? That’s what Harry said the tattoo meant, when Ed had asked all those years ago. And despite them always explaining the meaning behind the complimentary tattoo as vaguely as humanly possible, when someone asks these days, it doesn’t mean Louis can’t remember how it came about.

”Sorry,” Harry eventually mumbles against his skin, wet lips warm on Louis. ”For pushing you away. I know you care, ’s just hard sometimes. We’re a bit shit with this feelings stuff, I reckon.”

Louis’ lips quirk up and he lets out a small huff of laughter, the flow of air ruffling Harry’s hair. ”We were raised, technically, by the same people. Is it really that surprising?”

Harry shakes his head. ”’m sorry, though. Really. Not just for, like, last night but all of the times I’ve, uh, dragged you out of bed in the middle of the night.”

”I don’t mind it, Haz,” Louis argues. ”Just wanted to know what’s up with you. You’re the most important person in my life, it kills me when I don’t know what’s hurting you, yeah?”

It might not be a very good idea to have a heart-to-heart with Harry, especially considering just _how_ important the younger man is to him, but it’s nothing but the truth and Harry clearly needs to hear it. If it twists Louis’ own heart in the painful kind of way, then so be it. All that really matters is Harry’s smile anyways.

”I really don’t deserve you,” Harry says when he pulls away to wipe his tears and offer Louis a wobbly, warm smile that Louis reciprocates with his own. ”You’re a fucking miracle, Louis Tomlinson.”

It’s moments like these that Louis can’t completely extinguish the small beacon of hope that sometimes still, stubbornly, raises its head from somewhere deep within his heart and soul. It’s sappy and it’s shit, but it still happens. Rarely these days, but lately it’s been happening more often than Louis would like to admit and right now it’s really not just a beacon of hope, but rather a fucking bright spotlight, aimed right at him: he can’t escape it, no matter how much it’ll hurt when somebody comes and smashes it into a thousand pieces for the hundredth time. He just smiles and for reasons unknown to mankind, pulls Harry in for a sweet, but firm kiss.

Their lips make slick sounds and Louis can feel the tremble in Harry, but he doesn’t pull away, just threads his fingers in the man’s hair and angles him closer, other hand cradling his cheek. Harry’s left hand is fisting his t-shirt and the right one’s pressed against the junction of Louis’ neck and shoulder, squeezing. It’s a bit desperate, the kiss, but not in the hectic kind of way, but rather in the slow, needy kind of way. It’s clear there are feelings there, coming from the both of them, but Louis knows it’s not the same for them.

He’s stupidly in love – not stupidly as in over the moon (though that, too), but quite literally _stupidly_ in love with someone who he’ll never reach the way he wants to, while Harry’s fear of being unlovable and getting abandoned shines through with the force of a thousand suns. All Louis wants is to lick into Harry’s mouth as many times as he needs to for the younger man to understand that he’s never going to leave him, not even when inevitably Harry’s going to try and wrench him off with a crowbar – not even then.

–

_January, 2009_

_”I’m home,” Louis calls from the front door, already able to smell his mum cooking dinner in the kitchen._

_He throws his backpack under the coatrack, full-well knowing Vivian’s going to tell him off for it soon enough, but he feels sort of excited and the thought doesn’t daunt him even the slightest bit today. He shrugs off his jacket as well, but hangs it neatly when his mother throws him a look from the kitchen._

_The second part of the football season is only starting soon, but their coach has been implying that he’s been talking Louis up to the scouts from Manchester University and that he might have a chance for a scholarship, at least for a partial one. Not that his parents wouldn’t pay for the school anyways, but it would help the strain for sure._

_“How was school, dear?” Vivian asks over her shoulder when Louis shimmies his way to the fridge to get some juice._

_He sees the soup slowly boiling on the stove and frowns. He thought his sister and Harry were supposed to join them for dinner tonight, but it’s not exactly a secret that Alice doesn’t eat soups. Not after her prom, when she’d – apparently – made the fatal mistake of eating chicken soup the morning after. Now any kind of partly liquid food makes the woman nauseous._

_“Aren’t Alice and Harry coming over for dinner? And what’s his name?” Louis raises his brows now, sipping from the juice carton even though Vivian scowls at him for it._

_“Greg and Alice broke up, didn’t you hear?” She says it like it’s common knowledge, but even Doncaster isn’t small enough town for the rumour to spread in a day – because it can’t have been much longer than that since Louis just saw Harry the other day and the man was still living with them. “They’re not coming over, no. Alice is packing tonight.”_

_“Packing?” Louis frowns again. “She going on a business trip or summat?”_

_This time Vivian actually turns to look at him, slightly confused before she takes in Louis’ expression. Then she goes quiet and isn’t looking at Louis anymore. “What is it?”_

_It’s dread that Louis feels, because the times when his mother looks at him like that, those are the times that Alice has come up with one of her whims again and their mother is fairly convinced that Louis isn’t going to like it. Louis wants to say it only happens every now and then, but then he’d be a liar._

_“They’re moving, Harry and her,” Vivian says after Louis prods her with his knuckles._

Moving? _Louis thinks to himself. Harry hadn’t said anything about that, but then again, it’s Alice they’re talking about here so it’s fully possible the woman decided it all on her own, never even mentioned anything to her son. “What’s wrong with the old house? Surely she can afford it, you and dad are helping, right?”_

_Vivian sidesteps past him to pick some spices from the shelf, her eyes firmly on anything else than Louis. Fear starts pooling in Louis’ stomach slowly, the longer his mother stays quiet, the more he feels like something is horribly, horribly wrong. There aren’t many situations where Vivian doesn’t speak straightforwardly, but there are some; when asked about very personal, sensitive matters and when she’s delivering news that will sow chaos around her. Louis can already guess this is about the latter._

_“The house is fine and yes, we’re still helping her out with the payments. Alice just- Well,” Vivian shrugs in a way that suggests she doesn’t quite understand her daughter either, like she knows already Louis won’t even try, “She’s decided it’s time for her to start over. ‘Somewhere new and exciting, where people aren’t as closeminded’, is what she said when she called last night,” she shrugs again before muttering, “God knows there isn’t a place where people are openminded enough for her mood swings.”_

_It’s got to be a joke. It has got to be a joke, Alice would never go through with it. Sure, she’s always been talking about moving to London or Birmingham, leaving behind Donny and all the men that don’t respect her enough, her family that doesn’t value her, either. But- but it’s just been her blabbering to get attention, it’s been her being dramatic over silly stuff. It’s not been_ real _._

_Since Louis doesn’t say anything, Vivian chances a glance his way while stirring the pot. “London isn’t that far away, Louis,” she sighs, as if she can read the inner turmoil that’s raging inside the boy._

_But she knows nothing, is the thing. The panic that’s seizing Louis is horrendous and paralyzing, because if Alice leaves, then.. Then, Harry leaves. And_ no _. Vivian knows nothing, none of them know anything. Harry_ can’t _leave, not when Louis is supposed to stay here. Not when Louis needs Harry to keep him grounded in the midst of what is their crazy, half-witted family. Not when Louis still hasn’t told him--._

_“Louis!” Vivian shouts after him when he slams the juice carton on the countertop and it splashes all over, before dashing right out of the kitchen and pulling on the first pair of shoes that fits and stumbling out of the door._

_He doesn’t hear his mother’s yells, just runs because did Harry know? No, Harry couldn’t have known, he would’ve told Louis. Harry won’t want to leave, he wouldn’t want to.. Louis picks up his pace and rounds the corner, feet hitting the familiar pavement and carrying him through the familiar streets to an even more familiar house where a moving lorry is already parked outside._

_Louis doesn’t reply when one of the movers calls out a polite enough ‘hey, kid!’, instead just runs inside, nearly running into a couch being carried out. From the hallway alone, he can see how the living space is radiating emptiness, hollowness – the pictures of him and Harry have been taken down from the walls and Ferdinand’s cat bed has disappeared from the corner as well as the lamp that used to be above it. Louis doesn’t even try to find Alice, only makes his way to Harry’s room at the rear end of the small two-bedroom house and sure enough, finds his nephew slouching by the wall, under the window Louis has climbed through more times than he can count._

_If the living space had looked empty and foreign then Harry’s room is just.. sad. The bed and the desk along with the bookcase are gone, posters of Freddie Mercury and Fleetwood Mac ripped off leaving behind only the stains that the tape had caused. Louis is still out of breath and his brain isn’t getting enough air for him to comprehend this, but it still registers the way Harry is slightly trembling, his head leaning against his knees that are tucked up to his chest._

_Louis hates his sister, with a passion._

_He takes the few separating steps to Harry and falls down next to him, side touching side. Harry must’ve heard him before, because he doesn’t even flinch. Louis knows he’s still in shock, because there’s no words tumbling out of his too-big-of-a-mouth and somewhere at the back of his mind he thinks somebody should really film this: to witness Louis Tomlinson speechless, behold the seventh wonder of the world._

_They sit there for what could be hours or just minutes, Louis’ breathing calming down and his mind starting to work a little better. Harry’s room is empty, Harry’s sad and he definitely didn’t know._

_“This might be the first time I actually wished for one of her men to stay,” the fifteen-year-old quietly admits, not lifting his head. “Greg left. That’s why she decided_ we _need a fresh start.”_

_Louis scoots even closer and throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders to pull him close. “She’s a shit person. I hate her,” he childishly says, certainly not fit for some who’s going to be eighteen soon._

_Harry shrugs, but lifts his head from where he’d been hiding it against his knees. He doesn’t quite meet Louis’ eyes, but it isn’t hard to tell just how upset he is. The difference between the two of them is that Harry’s already resigned to his faith, whereas Louis’ anger is just starting to roar into life under his skin. He knows he has zero say in this, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. Doesn’t mean he has to be nice about it, either._

_“If I could hate her, I would, too,” Harry puffs his cheeks, clearly tired of all the emotion. “She doesn’t think of anyone but herself. Not that she owes me anything, but.. I just wished she’d asked me, at least.”_

_“When’d she tell you?”_

_“She didn’t,” is all Harry says._

_And Louis has seen many incomprehensible stunts his sister has pulled – one of them being when she decided to become the legal guardian of a four-year-old that she’d only known for about six months – but this- this Louis can’t even begin to understand. How it must’ve felt for_ Harry _to come home from school, to see that lorry outside and men carrying their furniture out of the house. Only to hear that his life is being uprooted, thrown to another city, because his guardian is tired of this town and its people._

_“I wanna punch something,” Louis very nearly growls and inadvertently squeezes Harry’s shoulder a little harder._

_Harry shakes his head, lips pulled into a thin, sad line. “Won’t change a thing. I already told her I don’t wanna go. That my life’s here. She told me I’ll build a new one in London.”_

_The way the younger holds himself is miserable for Louis to watch. It’s miserable for him to watch for so many reasons that it’s not even funny and he can’t say half of them out loud. He knows Harry doesn’t want to go because this is where his friends are, this is where_ Louis _is. Louis knows how it’s tearing the boy apart, because that is exactly what it’s doing to him – only more fiercely. But Louis also knows what his duty as the boy’s uncle is, knows that crying and kicking won’t help now. It never will with Alice. And his job is to make sure Harry starts living wherever he ends up, is it London or the fucking moon, he can’t stay wallowing in losing what he had._

_Louis can’t afford that either._

_The coach’s words echo in his mind, the promise of the scholarship, but sitting here and watching Harry fight back tears and the shivers that seem to wreck his body every few seconds – it should scare him how much of a no-brainer it is, the decision he quietly makes, but Louis Tomlinson doesn’t get scared. Louis Tomlinson doesn’t give up on the people he loves – only because he’s fucking dumb and incapable of doing so._

_“Haz,” he says softly then, waiting until Harry’s emerald eyes are meeting his own blue ones, “You’ll love London. You’ll love how diverse it is, all the different kind parts of the city,” Louis swallows down the painful lump that tries to form in his throat as he keeps a hold of Harry’s gaze, the boy’s eyes watery and bottom lip wavering, “You’ll love all the little hipster-y shops and cafés, all the new people you’ll meet. It’s going to be great, I promise.”_

_Harry’s already shaking his head before Louis finishes and it pains the older’s heart to a point it really shouldn’t. “But you won’t be there, Lou. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that lunatic of a woman without you? Who’ll take me to swim in a freezing lake in the middle of the night and who’ll cuddle me when I feel like shit? Who’ll be my family..”_

_Shit, shit, shit._

_“H, you’ll be fine, I promise,” Louis feels like crying and he feels like throwing himself out the window, only they’re on the first floor and he wouldn’t even fracture a bone and it’s just_ shit _, “I’ll come visit you, like, every weekend. We can call, yeah?”_

_Louis strokes Harry’s wet cheek with a gentle hand, pushes his curls out of his eyes and searches for the little spark of hope that he needs to plant in Harry. Just for a little while, he’ll have to do alone, just for a little while. Louis leans closer to bump their foreheads together, the way they always do with Harry when the other needs cheering up, but this time it only serves for Harry to start sobbing again._

_“But who’ll do that with me then, huh?” the boy hiccups and pulls far enough to smudge the tears away from his reddening eyes. His tone is a bit frustrated now, most likely a result of his inability to hold back. “I need you, Lou. I’m shit without you.”_

_“You’re great, Harry,” Louis says sternly, hand travelling to take a hold of the younger’s neck and pulling him closer again. “You’re amazing, everybody loves you. London will love you, babycakes.”_

_The barest hint of a smile grazes Harry’s lips then, but it disappears when the boy takes a shaky breath, determined to calm himself down. Louis’ fingers rub the nape of his neck gently, eyes never wavering from Harry’s face, even though the younger isn’t currently meeting his eyes._

_“Tell me you’ll be fine, H,” Louis means to sound firm and sure, but there’s something desperate, pleading in his voice, but only because he_ knows _how easily Harry will stop trying and start giving in to Alice and everyone else who’ll figure the boy’s weakness out, “Promise me.”_

_Their eyes meet again and despite Harry’s blotchy cheeks and wet eyes, Louis has no other choice than to believe him, when he utters the words ‘I promise’ in a quiet, low voice. He’ll just have to have faith. Louis sucks at that._

_The older boy doesn’t leave the house until Alice is ushering him out with a promise to stop by the house the next day before they’ll drive down to London. Harry clings to Louis at the door with all his might and if the hug lasts longer than would be appropriate for others in their shoes, then Louis is thankful that his sister doesn’t point it out. Before letting go of Louis, Harry whispers a few more words into his ear, ones that stay with the older a long time afterwards._

_“You’re my anchor, Lou,” Harry chokes out, “You ground me.”_

_Louis has to swallow before speaking, because suddenly his throat feels tacky and the words weigh a ton. “And you’re my rope, lil’ H. Always bring me home.”_

_Harry cries when Louis leaves and the older walks backwards for as long as Alice lets Harry keep the door open. When he finally loses sight of Harry, he feels the cold January air bite his skin and it’s harsh and unforgiving – very fitting for his mood, Louis thinks bitterly. He can’t find it in him to hurry up his steps, however, not quite ready to face what’s waiting for him at home._

_Because, they’ll all act like it’s not a big deal, Alice and Harry moving. In some ways, it can even be a relief, because then his mum doesn’t have to walk around town explaining why her daughter has turned the way she has and that way Kevin can finally start saving up for the summer house they’ve been dreaming of for ages, because they can sell Alice’s house. But it won’t be the same, not for Louis. His own room will feel half empty, the mattress tucked against the wall in his room will be dragged to the attic, because Harry won’t be staying over every other night anymore. Nothing’s the same after tomorrow._

_Louis will have to apply to universities soon and though he’d already made up his mind.. Yeah, Louis doesn’t give up on people he loves. And it’s not even just that, is the thing. Louis is selfish, he truly is, but he won’t stay behind if Harry’s going. There is no way Louis will continue his life if the only person he’s ever truly cared about in his life is moving 290 kilometres away from him, only for time to make them grow apart and the distance to force them to find new people to care about._ Louis _can’t do that, he won’t._

_Besides, London universities are a lot better than Manchester anyway. It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine._

–

A month after Harry’s semester kicked up again, he comes home from one of his lectures to find a pearly white letter in their mailbox, addressed to both him and Louis. Their names are neatly scribbled in cursive on the paper and it looks awfully lot like a wedding invitation, is what he thinks when he makes his way up the stairs to their flat. Harry can’t think of many people that could be getting married, not from his and Louis’ shared friends at least. Unless Ed has suddenly had a change of heart and decided to marry the girl he’s been seeing on and off for years now, but it’s unlikely.

“Louis?” He calls out as he closes the door, but gets no response.

Harry kicks off his shoes and lets his messenger bag fall near the coat rack, curiosity getting the best of him. He doesn’t have the heart to rip the pretty envelope open with his hands, so he searches for the letter opener in the kitchen, and carefully cuts through the material. Just as he manages to inch the invitation – because that’s what it is: a card with embossed, all-over white roses on it along with ceremonial opening words of ‘ _Dear friends and family, it is our pleasure to request your company’_ but that’s just about as far as Harry gets, when the door opens and shuts, indicating Louis is home. Harry absently calls his hellos, before returning to the letter, his brows knitting.

‘ _.. your company on Saturday the 11_ th of November 2017 at the marriage of Thomas Jordan Kingsley to Alice Caroline Tomlinson, at one o’clock in the afternoon. Please join us to share our happiness!  
Horniman Museum and Gardens  
100 London Rd, Forest Hill, London

_The ceremony and reception will be held at the same address._

_Please inform us whether you will be attending with a date or on your own!’_

For a moment there, Harry’s mind stays completely blank. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel, whether he should be happy for Alice or worried, because this can’t be more than one of those whims that had ended them up in London in the first place. Just then Louis walks into the kitchen, exhausted and grumpy looking like he often is after a long work day.

“Whatcha looking at, curly?” he asks as he plops down on the seat next to Harry’s.

“You tell me,” Harry mumbles and offers the letter to the older.

Louis takes it with a quizzical look, eyes moving from Harry to quickly skim through the letter. The change in the man’s posture isn’t big, barely noticeable really, but Harry sees the way his shoulders tense and jaw locks. If the whole wedding is a worrying matter then Louis’ reaction could possibly shake the face of the Earth. For Harry at least.

“She’s finally lost it, hasn’t she,” the older mumbles after a while, carelessly tossing the card on the table and leaning back against the chair.

Harry looks at every change of expression on Louis’ face, trying to detect whether this is one of those ‘whatever’ situations or rather one of those that could cause a severe setback in their relationship. It’s moments like these that Harry vehemently despises his own life, a little bit Alice, too, because at this point just a simple wedding invitation could wreck something very fundamental between him and Louis, and Harry can’t afford that.

So, he keeps his voice tentative when he asks, “We going?”

Louis huffs, a dry smile tugging at his lips when he pushes his fringe out of his eyes. “Think Alice or mum will let us _not_ go?”

Harry doesn’t have to answer, they both know their presence isn’t requested but demanded. It’s a funny thing about the Tomlinson family, how paradoxical the people are. On one hand they’re very exclusive and had made it very clear that Harry was no part of this family, this name, but on the other, he has to represent them still. If Harry didn’t owe them so much, he’d flip them off without a second thought. As it is though, he’s not only gotten a roof above his head and food from them, but also his best friend, the only person he’ll ever need in life.

“Did something happen between Alice and you?” Harry asks then, eyes still firmly on Louis. “’Cause, like, even though I don’t condone her choices or this marriage, in any way, you just seem.. mad. Like, why do you care?”

Louis’ thin lips purse and his perfectly arched brows scrunch up at the words, his fingers fiddling with each other. So, something did happen. “Lou?”

Louis shrugs, “It’s not about the wedding. She’s an adult and can do what the hell ever she wants, now that she’s not in charge of you anymore. But, I just find it kinda repulsive that we have to go. That it’s normal or something for everyone there and no one’s going to say jackshit about the fact that half of us haven’t even _met_ the groom. People are just gonna bring gifts and congratulate them like this is what people _do_.”

And Harry gets Louis. They stand in different positions in so many ways, when it comes to the Tomlinsons, because Harry’s never been in a place where he could openly judge or show his feelings about these things, not if they weren’t thoroughly positive. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t criticized the choices Alice or Vivian have made throughout the years, but the difference is, that Louis has always shown his feelings. If not loud and clear, then through snide comments and passive-aggressive behavior. Harry’s always secretly been pleased about that.

So, Harry knows how much it appals Louis that his dysfunctional family gets away with things like these. They can arrange a luncheon or a dinner party out of nowhere and invite all the second cousins and their aunts and whatnot, just to badmouth those that never showed up. And it’s considered normal, somehow. Let alone how everyone’s handled Alice since forever. Even Vivian, who thoroughly disagrees with every single choice her daughter has ever made, won’t say a thing when there’s family around. It’s all well and good, as long as no one dares bring up the elephant in the room. And no one ever does.

That bothers Louis to no end, because he’s grown up with that. _Harry_ has, too, so he knows what it’s like to live in a home where people mask themselves to be progressive – accepting of both Louis’ and Harry’s sexualities, fine with tattoos and piercings, you name it – but when it comes down to talking about some serious problems with mental health or alcohol, drugs – it’s like suddenly they’re all back in the days where all those things were referred to as ‘personal problems’, shied away from. Living in that sort of environment got tiring really fast when they started to understand more about the world surrounding them.

This just feels like an ugly reminder of the time.

“Let’s go together?” Harry suggest in lieu of really answering to Louis’ rant.

When the older meets his eyes, Harry offers him a smile with dimples. Louis frowns, amused glint in his eyes. “Well, duh. Why would we go separately, we live in the same address?”

Harry can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him before he leans closer, conspiratorially smirking. “I mean, will you be my date to the wedding?”

And well, whereas Harry knew this could go one of two ways (turning it into a joke or making it into a playful rejection, both equally fine), he didn’t expect the way Louis’ mouth falls agape and his brows shoot up on his forehead. No, he definitely did not see this coming.

“Date? As in..”

Harry frowns, bemused, but still smiling. “ _As in_ , let’s attend as a couple, like as a joke? Ever heard of it? Usually makes people laugh, but this time we’re striving for horrified looks from the relatives? No?”

Louis seems to relax at that, his body loosening up again and his blue eyes mirthful like his grin. “Right, yeah. Let’s. I mean, we should.”

Harry gives him one more odd glance, before moving on to planning their possible matching outfits. Louis, on the other hand, is from that point on quite immersed in his own thoughts. He knows that attending as a couple will only stir unpleasant conversation and cause unnecessary ruckus, but at the same he is in a more rebellious mood at the moment.

After all, Alice has been pushing his limits as well, same as Vivian. And really, as he looks at Harry – is there something he wouldn’t do for the man?

–

_July, 2002_

_The heavy raindrops splatter against the wooden roof of the tree house, loud and soothing in the summer afternoon. The sounds are uneven, but they make much more sense than the sloshing, all-engulfing feelings inside Louis, so he doesn’t mind. The planks his dad had gotten for him from one of his co-workers are hard under his back as he stares at the paintings him and Harry had jotted up there last summer, balancing on a rickety chair they’d found in the shed in Louis’ backyard. Harry’s yellow handprint stands out from all the green and blue they’d used and Louis’ lips twitch a little._

_Sometimes when he lies in bed, listening to his parents fight like they had today, Louis thinks he would be a lot more miserable if Harry hadn’t come along. Louis still doesn’t understand why his parents keep scoffing at Alice’s choices – maybe he’s too young for that – but he thinks keeping Harry was the best thing she’s ever done. He might only be eleven, but he knows Alice will never be the sister to him that she should, she’s never even tried._

_But Louis doesn’t need that, her. Louis’ got Harry for a family and that’s so much better than Alice could’ve ever been - even if it makes him a bad person for thinking so, he still does._

_On the roof, in the far-left corner, Louis can see the lifelong promise to always look after Harry he’d made the day his dad had finished the tree house. Kevin had left to get them some celebratory lemonade and biscuits, while Louis and Harry had sat down in the middle of the shack, gazing up at their work of art, proud and feeling established. It was_ theirs _, is the thing._

_Four years ago, when Louis had woken up to the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night and stumbled out of his room to see his sister with a suitcase and tear-streaked face standing in their hallway, he’d felt his stomach fall to his feet. He was just six-and-a-half-years old then and everything about the situation had screamed ‘disaster’ and ‘danger’ to his sleepy brain. He’d been so caught up in his parents trying to console Alice, trying to coax her to speaking proper sentences, that he hadn’t even noticed the small boy standing behind his sister, tightly hugging a bunny plushie and warily eyeing the people in the room._

_Harry’s hair hand been pretty light then, nothing alike his now dark-brown, slowly curling locks, and it was thinner too. His green eyes were the exact same, though, Louis remembers, because as soon as the boy had turned them to Louis, the older had forgotten all about his sister. Harry and his pigeon-toed feet were glued to the spot and the corners of his mouth were pulled downwards – he looked lost and sad and so_ little _._

_With a bout of bravery Louis had taken some determined steps closer and noticed how Harry was clutching the plush toy to his chest with white-knuckles, how his lower lip had wobbled the tiniest bit. Above them, Alice was sobbing something about ‘Colin not making it, it was an accident’, but Louis didn’t pay them any mind, just tilted his head and considered Harry._

_“Are you okay?” he’d asked, but if he’d known what had happened then, he’d just have hugged Harry right away instead of wasting time on words that wouldn’t make anything better._

_Harry had hesitated for a long moment, before he’d pressed his lips in a thin line and shaken his head._

_“What’s your name?”_

_Just then, Alice had crouched down next to them and pulled Harry a little closer to her while wiping away tears from her cheeks. “Sweetie, we’re staying here for a bit, yeah?”, she’d nodded and looked a little frantic, “Alice’s mum and dad will take care of us._ _And I’ll take care of you, too, okay?”_

_Harry barely nodded, had cast his eyes down, away from Louis’. Alice had sniffled a couple times, before finally addressing Louis. ”Lou, this is Harry. Harry will be staying with me from now on. He’s family, so be nice to him,” Alice’s red eyes had been wet and distracted when she was saying these things, but Louis had hung onto every word, ”He’s younger than you, only four. Be a good example, will ya?”_

_And that’s how Louis had gotten Harry. It was only some time ago when his mum had told him that Harry wasn’t really Alice’s child and yeah, Louis had figured as much because there was no baby bump at any point and everything just happened really quickly. She’d also told Louis that Harry’s dad was in heaven and that they were the only family Harry had left and then she’d smiled sadly, but only for a moment before she started talking about nan._

_Now that Louis is a little older, he knows that Harry must have relatives somewhere out there, people who must not have wanted him. And that makes Louis sad, even more so than the fact that he himself is hiding out in the tree-house to avoid hearing his mother blackmail his father with the fact that she’ll be making sure to get Louis’ custody, were they to split up._ That _doesn’t really make Louis sad per se, but more just.. numb, maybe? He doesn’t get it, why his parents still have to be together – why his mum is so adamant about it – when all they do these days is fight._

_So, Louis spends many of these moments when he’s somehow turned invisible in the eyes of his mother and father, thinking about Harry – the only person in his life that he can safely say he loves and only loves. There’s no bitter feelings towards Harry, no anger or resentment, just love. It’s simple – Louis likes simple._

_His thoughts are interrupted when the younger boy’s head appears from the hole in the floor, curls hiding under the soaking hood of his new jacket. Louis doesn’t lift his head, only waves his hand and keeps his eyes on Harry as the boy climbs inside and sheds off the wet clothe, before crawling next to Louis. Harry tucks himself close and the skin of his arm and hand is cold, so Louis intertwines their fingers, thumb rubbing the back of Harry’s hand._

_”Viv and Kev fighting?” the younger mumbles, his eyes trained on the ceiling but Louis’ are now turned to look at him instead._

_”Yeah,” he answers, voice quiet._

_Harry squeezes his hand and doesn’t say more, because he’s intuitive like that. Louis looks at him; looks at the small freckles dotting his straight, pointy nose, the blush that covers his slightly round cheeks and the long eyelashes that frame his green, curious eyes. And he thinks that even at eight-years-old, Harry Styles is something very special. Louis thinks that Harry means the world to him and that, even if it makes Louis the most selfish person to ever have lived, he wants to keep this boy all to himself._

_Because even if Harry’s past makes Louis sad, and seeing the boy cry makes his stomach twist in an unpleasant way, even though Harry sometimes makes him mad when he doesn’t understand that Louis can’t bring him everywhere with him and even though he sometimes makes Louis really confused, at the end of the day, he still makes Louis happier than anyone or anything. It’s a bit silly and that’s why Louis will never tell about this to anyone else than Harry, but it’s still true. And though Louis might hide it from the world, he could never hide it from himself. He doesn’t want to._

_”What’re you thinking ’bout, Lou?”_

_Harry’s now looking at him and Louis doesn’t know when he turned, but he smiles all the same. Harry returns it without thought. Louis kinda loves him._

_”D’you love me ’Arry?”_

_The boy nods. ”Lots.”_

_Louis smiles wider. ”I love you, too.”_

_They stare for a beat and that’s one of the wonders of childhood, Louis remembers his dad once saying: there’s no awkward silences or moments to be interpreted wrong. Everything right then and there, is honest. Louis believes that now._

_”Lou?” Harry’s voice is a whisper, his dimples shyly peeking out on his cheeks._

_”Mhm?”_

_”Mum told me that people who love each other get married. That when they, umm, tell about their love to each other, the other will ask the other to marry them. So, umm, will you marry me then, Lou?”_

_It’s an odd feeling, that flapping thing in his chest, Louis thinks, but he sort of likes it. So far it has only happened with Harry, so to Louis it’s a Harry-thing, which means it’s a good thing as well. He smiles at Harry, a small laugh escaping his lips when he reaches out to ruffle the younger’s slightly damp hair._

_”Hazza, it’s not like that,” he shakes his head and Harry pouts, brows furrowing, ”Two people that are_ in _love with each other get married.”_

_”That’s wha’ I said, dummie!” Harry exclaims, like he’s offended that Louis hadn’t understood him. It only makes the older smile brighter, because yeah, Harry’s really adorable._

_”No. Being in love means romantic love, Hazza. We love each other, yeah? But we’re not romantically in love with each other,” Louis explains, but Harry’s frown only deepens as he considers the other’s words._

_”But, like, how d’you know when it’s romantic? I don’t understand,” the younger whines, frustrated, ”I just love you, aight? An’ I wanna marry you, too.”_

_Louis can’t help biting down on his lip, can’t help the bubbly, happy feeling inside him. He doesn’t really understand it, doesn’t really know what to make of it, but as of now, it’s the best feeling he’s had in a long time. And this seems to mean a lot to Harry, so who is Louis to let him down? Anyways, it won’t harm anyone if the boy thinks he’s in love with Louis for a year or two – he’ll understand the difference soon enough._

_”Fine,” Louis relents, a smirk on his lips, ”I’ll marry you. But, let’s keep it a secret, yeah? Just between you and me.”_

_Harry’s beaming again, both dimples out and shining at Louis with the force of a thousand light bulbs. It’s worth it, he thinks when Harry links their pinkies like Louis taught him to do when making a promise. And as they lay there, hand in hand and listening to the sound of the rain, Louis forgets all about his parents and his sister and Harry’s dad and other relatives, because none of that really matters when he’s got this boy next to him like this, happy and relaxed._

_Harry’s all that matters, really._

–

The wedding is fun in an ironic way, up ’til some point.

As Louis and Harry had decided to go together, they’d both had the possibility to take plus ones with them, and though Harry had initially been a little hesitant about bringing strangers to a family gathering (mournfully Louis had thought that the man must know how it feels to be that stranger, that outsider), Louis had been, well, adamant about it.

He knows no one at the wedding would think they’d come as a couple, because, well – they’re _family_. And anyway, they’re _not_ a couple, which Louis has to remind himself of more often than not lately, ever since the invitation came, in fact. Suddenly all the mornings spent lazing around in bed watching Friends and trading slow kisses, having languid morning sex isn’t very casual anymore. It’s anything but, if he’s being honest. And he doesn’t want to be honest, didn’t even want to think what it’d mean to attend a wedding together like that, so.

That is how Zayn and Liam had tagged along, despite Zayn’s hard glare when Louis had pitched the idea to them. Apparently, this is too soon for Zayn’s relationship-o-meter or something equally as stupid. Unfortunately for the Pakistani man, he’s once promised to never say no to any requests that involve Louis keeping Harry a safe-distance away.

Louis barely remembers anything about the actual ceremony, only because it turns out Tom has got a huge family full of rich people (Louis tried so hard not to snort when this became apparent, honest) and none of them were as keen on keeping their mouths shut about the quick marriage as the Tomlinsons – not even during the actual wedding. The two elderly ladies that were sat right behind Louis and Harry kept whispering all through the priest’s words and the vows, only shutting up when the audience cheered for the newly-weds.

It turns out Tom had a chance at a Countess of some far-away, remote place in the UK and it’s absolutely outrageous that he’d chosen Alice instead – a _hairdresser_ , of all things. Louis and Harry had a good laugh about it, though they actually managed to keep quiet during the ceremony. It had been a great topic over the food though, with Liam and Zayn both finding it beyond funny. Although Louis suspects that might’ve had more to do with the pre-drinks Zayn had insisted on and that the said man had enjoyed much more than Harry and himself. The two of them were keen on making a somewhat alright impression on Vivian, but that had gone down the drain (for Louis at least) the moment his mother had held a speech for the newlyweds.

First, she’d gone on and on about how _happy_ she is for Alice and Tom and how great it is to see young love, _true love_ , but where Louis finally had traded his sparkling wine for a scotch was when she’d compared this marriage to her and Kevin’s.

”Alice, dear,” she’d said with that fake smile plastered on her red lips and Louis was snickering with Harry, both leaning on the bar at the farthest wall, ”It makes me so glad to see you with someone like Tom. To see that you’ve found what I had with your father. Kevin and I, our marriage was more than I ever could’ve asked for. And I see that this marriage has all the potential to be just as perfect. Cheers, to love.”

Everybody were raising glasses around them, but Louis refused to let the irony pass him. Refused to take part in this lie-of-a-life his mother was broadcasting around. If there was one thing Louis wanted to respect, it was his late father and his mother lying about something so essential just.. felt wrong. Harry hadn’t even said anything when the bartender had slid the scotch to Louis, instead just joined the older in his means. After that, the wedding got a lot more fun.

Louis and Harry spent a long time looking around the space and making fun of different relatives they spotted, people who they both knew were here to only keep up appearances or to actually see _Alice Tomlinson_ making _that_ decision. It went unsaid between them that many of those people they had to greet gazes lingered on Harry a moment longer than was strictly polite. It was nothing new, but it did put a certain strain in their evening (and dampened the mood, too). It was those times that reminded Louis of the fact that Harry and him were family.

He’d done a decent job at avoiding thinking about that, the whole family thing, during the past few weeks, but it was inevitable that the thoughts circled back around when they were literally surrounded by said family. In solution, Louis drank. Harry did too, but Louis could see the younger keeping an eye on him even when they were both giggling about the horrible feather-covered hat one of Tom’s relatives was sporting and it left Louis feeling unsettled.

Really, they might’ve gotten out of there unscathed if it wasn’t for Louis’ mother. Stress on the word _might,_ because as much as Louis would like to blame it all on Vivian, she wasn’t the only one to push the wrong buttons.

When Harry disappears to the loo, Vivian boxes Louis in between the bar and herself. Louis knew this was coming and had fully intended to busy himself with finding Liam and Zayn, but he’d been too slow to escape. ”Louis.”

”Mother,” he replies dryly.

Vivian offers him a tight smile, eyes scanning the room and it could be her just giving the room a glance, but Louis knows it’s her making sure no one’s listening. ”Where’d you leave Harry?”

Louis raises his brows. ”Don’t act like you don’t know he left for the gents, like, thirty seconds ago. I saw you watching, so,” he burps, _ace_ , ”I know you just wanted to jump me.”

Vivian narrows her eyes now and snatches the half empty scotch from Louis’ hand, placing it on the bar behind him. ”Right. What’s this with you bringing along a couple? I thought you RSVP’d with plus ones?”

Right. Of course she’d be worried about that. No, ’how are you’ or ’how’s work Louis’. Nothing about how Louis spent his father’s death anniversary. Nothing about anything, really. The image is what matters, always. ”The couple are our plus ones,” he deadpans.

His mother doesn’t seem amused or pleased. Louis finds he doesn’t give a shit, for once. ”You realize you’ve spent all night holed up in this corner with Harry? And your dates have been very explicitly showing the nature of their relationship by the indoor fountain,” Louis snorts and Vivian glares, ”People have inquired me about that. About why would you and Harry bring them here, asking if you’re in a poly-amorous relationship.”

Louis raises his brows and that’s actually pretty funny, he reckons. Leave it to his family to jump to conclusions based on literally _nothing_. He quietly snickers to himself, before shaking his head. ”Because that makes the most sense, doesn’t it.”

Vivian scowls at him, hands crossing over her chest as she leans closer, eyes darting around them before pinning Louis into place. ”Stop playing around, Louis. This isn’t a joke, not everything in life is. I get it that you’ve decided not to grow up, that is not on me anymore, but for the love of God, don’t bring that _life_ here, for all the people to see. Have some _dignity_.”

That sobers Louis up faster than any water ever could. His mouth snaps shut and he doesn’t even feel shocked, is the thing. His blood boils and maybe the alcohol is still there, in the way he doesn’t let up when Vivian keeps staring him down, but _fuck_ Louis doesn’t have to listen to this. It’s his life, not his mother’s. _His_ decisions. And his fucking dignity or the lack there of.

”I’ve decided not to grow up?” he asks flatly just as Harry appears back on his side, forehead creasing immediately as his hand lands on Louis’ hip. Louis doesn’t push him away like he might’ve done a year ago in a similar situation.

”You alright?” Harry asks him, stepping even closer, eyes only glancing in Vivian’s direction.

”He’s just being difficult,” Louis’ mother says, nose tilted upwards, ”Being like his sister.”

And Louis snaps, because suddenly he might just understand his sister a tiny bit better. ”Can you just shut up, you hypocrite?” he snarls, causing Vivian to step half-a-foot back. ”Me, not growing up? Have you even _heard_ yourself? Is this how a grown-up would live their life, then? Going around, telling lies to the relatives, making up a front to hide the things that shouldn’t even be considered fucked up. You’ve made things into taboos without them even being that.” Louis seethes.

Harry’s hand squeezes him at that, and Vivian’s uncertain eyes are what fire him on further. ”So what if I was in a poly-amorous relationship with Harry and my two mates? _So what_ if people think it’s odd that I still don’t have a job in me own field or that Harry lives with me, even though he’s old enough to live by himself? So fucking what, mum? I literally couldn’t give two shits about what all these people think of me.”

_Lies_. Louis will definitely care in the morning when he’s sobered up and his head’s pounding. But right now, he doesn’t. Right now, he’s fed up and wants to give everyone who’ll listen a piece of his mind. Which is why it’s an unfortunate timing for Harry to excuse them and push them outside in the garden where most of the guests are milling about. Which is why it’s the worst fucking time ever, for _Will_ out of all people to stumble through the door, drunk and clearly not happy. Zayn and Liam are hot on his heels, but Will’s spotted Louis and Harry already.

Louis and Harry, who are standing close to each other now, Harry’s back to the man approaching, while he’s whispering encouraging, sweet words to Louis to calm him down. Words that Louis doesn’t hear, because he’s too caught up in thinking about how this’ll play out.

”I _fucking_ knew it,” Will spits out the minute he’s within a hearing distance, causing Harry to step away from Louis and face his ex-boyfriend.

That’s when Louis knows it won’t end well.

”Will? What the hell are you doing here?” Harry asks, his voice strained and low, confused.

”Shit security, they have,” the man scoffs, coming to a halt no more than a feet away from Louis, out of all people, ”But I fucking knew, you little twat.”

Louis hasn’t been able to collect his wits just yet, his drunk brain still processing what he’d said to his mother and seeing Will enter the wedding in the first place. Harry steps between them, pushing Will further away from Louis and when he speaks, it’s calm in a way that Harry always is when he’s mad but doesn’t want to fight. Louis hates that tone, mostly because it usually means he’s already lost to Harry.

”Get out,” Harry says, ”This isn’t the place for this. Just, get out.”

Either Will doesn’t know what’s best for him or he’s just that stupid, because he only steps closer and keeps talking.

”You’re such a slut, Harry,” he sneers, voice gaining volume, finger coming to poke Harry in the chest, ”Such a slut. I knew it all along. You cheated on me all those years, didn’t you? I _knew_. You just couldn’t keep it in your pants, ’coz you just are like that, yeah?”

And _no_.

Louis pushes his way past Harry and straight into Will’s space, their chests flush together when Louis looks up at the man. ”Shut the fuck up, you fucker,” Louis spits out and shoves the man, though he only staggers because of the surprise, most likely, ”You got some nerve. You don’t know the first thing about H, so why don’t you take your puny little arse the fuck outta here.”

Will’s back on him in a second, chest knocking into Louis’ harder than before. ”Of course you would stand up for the little whore,” the man patronizes, ”You’re the one he’s fucking. But trust me, you aren’t special either. It’s just what Harry does.”

Louis shoves him again, but this time the man barely moves, just wavers a little. ”Shut up, you prick!” Not Louis’ best come back, but he’s drunker than he thought and, just, _no fucking way_ is anyone spewing lies like that about Harry, about Louis’ _sweet_ , caring Harry. No. Way.

”What is it, H? Can’t you control your little Pitbull of a boyfriend, hm? Is this feisty side of him what made you spread your legs, huh?”

Louis punches him. It hurts and people are definitely looking at them now, but it’s worth it.

”Watch your fucking mouth, you asshole,” Louis spits at the excuse of a man that’s holding his bleeding lip, surprise slowly turning into irritation and anger, ”You don’t even deserve to talk about Harry. Your filthy mouth isn’t even _worth_ enough to mention that man’s name, because he’s a fucking angel, ’s what he is. He loves and cares about people, he always puts them before himself. Harry is someone you were privileged to have, not that you knew how to appreciate him. His love is something most people can only dream of and if you got even a speck of that love, you should be fucking grateful. So if I was the reason he left you, then fucking _brilliant_. He deserves a thousand times better than what a scum like you are.”

If Louis spits at the man’s feet before Liam and Zayn are dragging him out by his arms, then no one really needs to point it out to him. It takes approximately ten seconds for the adrenaline to dissipate enough for Louis to notice all of his and Tom’s relatives watching, _gaping_. For Louis to realize what he said and how honest he’d sounded. Telling the truth.

Slowly, he turns around to find Harry looking at him with slightly glassy eyes and a small, wobbly smile. His hand clasps around Louis’ elbow and _great_.

Maybe there’s a possibility that what Louis just said can be viewed as something else than an indirect love confession? Maybe they’ll all think it was just a good uncle defending his nephew or an outstanding best friend defending his closest friend’s honour. Louis looks around and people are whispering, he can see his mother behind the window, face pale. And Harry’s eyes are fucking _hopeful_ out of all things. At least that’s what Louis sees, though he’s clearly inebriated and not to be trusted with anything feelings related.

”I, err..” Louis begins but then Harry’s pulling him into a hug and squeezing him close, closer.

”Thank you,” he whispers in Louis’ hair, soft and wet-voiced, ”All I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

And Louis has about one hundred and ten questions, but he doesn’t think this is the time or the place. He’s drunk. His mother and sister, along with half of their family, is watching, judging. Suddenly, it’s all a bit too much. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t supposed to _go_ in the first place, but on the odd chance that it did, this isn’t how Louis wanted it to go. _Shit_. He needs to get out of here, to be alone for a moment, to sober up.

He pulls away from Harry and instantly his hand cards through his hair and his eyes fall shut for a brief moment. ”Look,” he says when he opens them again, ”I need to--. Like, four hours. Five, maybe. Just, alone. For a moment.”

Harry’s face visibly falls and Louis’ heart is being wrenched. He feels like he can’t breathe in a minute if he doesn’t get away. Everything feels a bit shit right now and Louis takes a step back. ”I’m sorry.”

The younger shakes his head and reaches his hand out only to let it fall back to his side, limp and resigned. ”No, don’t say you’re sorry. Please, don’t say you’re sorry.”

Louis sucks in a breath, harsh and scratching at his throat. He can’t say anything, he can’t _think_. Harry looks broken and lost now, more than he’d looked when Will was spewing the insults at him and _fuckfuckfuck_ Louis can’t do this, he can’t be the one to make Harry look like this. He needs to get the fuck away, _now._

_”_ Louis,” Zayn’s voice reaches him at the same time as his hand lands on his shoulder, ”Mate. I’ll take you to mine.”

Louis can’t do anything but nod and Harry’s face crumbles further. He looks miserable and Louis’ brain is running in circles, endless loops that are just leaving his head screeching, but all he thinks about is that Harry’s going to leave here and get drunk and pass out in an alley somewhere and Louis won’t be there to pick him up. So, he steps closer, just half-a-step, before shaking his head, gulping down his sand-dry throat. ”Don’t drink. I can’t, I can’t take care of you. Don’t,” he stutters, before Zayn’s pulling him away and they’re leaving a lost-looking Harry behind.

An hour later, right before Louis falls asleep in Zayn’s bed, he mumbles out a demand for Zayn to text Niall to find Harry and take care of him. Someone has to take care of the boy when Louis can’t. 

–

Louis has never had a headache like this.

He likes to complain about how terrible his hangovers get these days, but even that hell isn’t close to this one. And he knows it has very little to do the amount of alcohol he consumed last night (which was a lot) and so much to do with one curly-haired boy, somewhere out there probably feeling rejected to the core.

Zayn pushes the tea cup in front of him alongside with some Aspirin. The screeching on the counter-top isn’t exactly pleasant, but Louis is just theatrical enough to add it up on top of all the other shitty feelings and pains in his body – because he really does deserve it all.

“You look like shit,” Zayn eventually says.

Louis knows it’s an attempt to cheer him up, to get him to crack that half-smile that is the first step in admitting that yeah, he screwed up, but it’s not like the world’s going to end. But the older just can’t get himself there. He _knows_ life isn’t going to end, of course he does. But something will.

“I feel like shit,” he then answers, clearing his throat and sipping on his tea, “I definitely let down a lot of people last night.”

Zayn doesn’t argue, which Louis knew he wouldn’t do because his best mate is good like that – he’s prides himself in his honesty. He does make a sympathetic sound, though.

“Can’t you look for the positives?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Zayn shrugs. “Now you don’t have to end the, ehh, relationship? Whatever-ship, yourself.”

“Gee, thanks Z, I feel so much better now.”

Louis isn’t amused.

“Fine, okay,” Zayn lifts hand in a sign of defense, “What ‘bout your family then. No need to hang out with them anymore.”

And yeah, sure, Louis hasn’t been exactly excited about his family, well, ever, but as fucked up and everything they are, they are still his family. Only family, since Harry and him probably won’t be the same anymore.

A frustrated sound between a sigh and a groan leaves his lips as he even thinks about the consequences this will have. If this was anyone else but Louis and Harry, it wouldn’t be as serious. If they were an ordinary barely-dating couple, they could easily talk this through. If they were just fuck-buddies, they would just end that and go back to being buddies.

But they’re not.

Their relationship is so nuanced that Louis doubts no one really understands it. It is 100 percent Louis’ fault that they are in this situation where Harry has always been able to count on Louis taking care of things, taking care of Harry, completely putting aside his own feelings and needs. That is on Louis.

But it doesn’t make the situation any easier. No one likes realizing their mistakes, let alone seeing the worst possible outcome come of them right under their noses, unable to do anything about it.

“Okay, look,” Zayn sighs, “I know the situation is dire, but Louis. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up and kinda just, accepted it?”

_Ouch_ and _wow._ In the reversed order, maybe, but still.

“What do you mean?” Louis can feel the tension in his back, the one that is a telltale sign of them getting close to an uncharted territory.

Zayn fixes him with a serious look before explaining:

“You have been doing this for so long. Arranging your life to best keep up with Harry, to take care of him. You moved to London to be with Harry. You’re still not a teacher, because you don’t want to commit to anything. You’re afraid of getting grounded by anyone or anything else than Harry. That has got to stop at some point, mate. Why not now?”

Zayn certainly hits the nail in the head – multiple ones at once here, too.

He’s not wrong – everything but – but nothing’s ever that simple. “It’s not _just_ because of Harry.”

The younger raises his brows in a manner that reads _is that your only defense?_

Louis wishes it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, “Yeah, you’re right. I have to, eventually, get my shit together.”

Zayn shakes his head, “Not eventually. Do it now. You’ve been given a great opportunity. Use it.”

Louis finds himself nodding, even though it is a little uncertain and he feels heavy. At least he nods.

–

Louis isn’t exactly sure what happens in the next few days, because he goes on about his life like usual, other than that he stays at Zayn’s, too afraid to face Harry yet.

The thing is, though, that Harry doesn’t contact him. Granted, Louis doesn’t contact Harry either, but for some reason the older had been expecting at least a call or a miffed text informing him that Harry’s moved out.

Because that is what he finds out has happened, when he finally returns home. All of Harry’s things are gone, his incenses and scented candles replaced by empty spots on the counters. His beddings are folded neatly at the end of the couch and there’s no note in sight. Louis feels – well, he feels a little betrayed and empty.

Sure, he knew that Harry must have taken it heavily, being left high and dry like that, but at the same time, Louis just didn’t think they would be the kind of people who left things unresolved to this extent. This launches an avalanche of thoughts about him reading their dynamics wrong since they were just two little boys and before he knows it, he’s spiraling down a rabbit hole.

The worst thought isn’t even the one about Louis having had the wrong impression, the worst one is the one that actually brings up the possibility that Harry and him were exactly as close as he thought they had been, but Harry was still ready to give up on everything that once was there – friendship, kinship – just because Louis, for once, couldn’t react as quickly and calmly as he usually does.

And then, just like that, Louis is done with these thoughts. Whatever happened here, between the two of them, he isn’t ready to find out. Maybe a week from now, he’ll be braver and will send Harry a message to ask if they could chat, but right now, he needs to get used to the idea that it’s just him from now on.

Yeah.

*

On the train back from Brighton, Louis is contemplating whether or not he should send a message to Harry. It’s been nearly three weeks now since they last talked – how? Louis doesn’t know.

It was right there, hovering over him all the time, the thought about just shooting a quick message to Harry. But he never just got around to it. Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like he’s been lazy, but it’s really not that.

Louis took Zayn’s advice, is the thing. Instead of immediately rushing to comfort Harry, he gave room for his own feelings. And they came in waves, one could say. He’s been going up and down, left and right dealing with feelings like anxiety, anger, sadness, desperation, elevation, frustration and the list goes on.

When he was somewhere between angry and elevated, he actually polished his CV after several years of pondering and turning and twisting over it. It turned out okay and inspired by this, he ended up applying for a teacher job. Louis didn’t put _that_ much thought into it, because he’s been graduated for a couple years now and it’s been a while since his placement training. It’s not like he’d be the best candidate, but he applied in order to feel like he’s actually doing something to move forward.

Something in Louis’ application had, unexpectedly, attracted the recruiters’ eyes and they had called him in for an interview. Louis had been shitting his pants, honestly, but with a boost from Zayn, he’d decided to take a shot at it. And although Louis had never babbled as much in his life – which is a lot said –, somehow, the principal ended up smiling at Louis widely while shaking his hand goodbye, saying: _You’ll hear from us very soon Mr. Tomlinson_.

At first, Louis had thought _well, doesn’t that sound like a line from a mafioso_ , but then the next thought had been quite a bit more nerve wracking: They might want him there. Sure, Louis had spend a week or two as a football coach at camp in Donny during the few past summers, but that can’t be enough to have convinced them of his experience with kids?

Yet again, this seems to be one of those mysteries that remains unsolved, unless Louis actually gets the job and has the nerve to ask what made them hire him. He doesn’t think he has.

Anyhow, he’s on the train back now and even though under normal circumstances he would be sending a message to Harry, because this is _big_. But, he hesitates now. Louis doesn’t think it seems quite right to tell Harry about this over a text message or even a phone call at this point. They haven’t talked in what feels like ages, and somehow it seems almost rude to just drop this on Harry. Maybe because Louis still hopes that Harry would be opposed it or maybe just because it would just be weird, wouldn’t it.

In the end, Louis opts for the less likely option. He sends a message to Adam. Just because Adam seems like someone who would be proud of him. And after all, he had said that Louis should contact him if he _ever finds it in himself to walk the other way_. Which, of course, this basically isn’t that, but he needs some kind of confirmation that he’s doing the right thing.

Everything that has happened in the past three weeks has been so quick. Every other day, Louis thinks that it’s as if everything is just falling into place, but then on the rest of those days, he feels like life’s not quite right. Zayn had comforted him, reminding him that he is basically ripping away half of his soul, not very gently either. So, Louis has been trying to be the adult here, the adult that everyone has been telling him he needs to become. He’s been accepting the pain and the difficult feelings, he’s fought through it. For the first time in the past three weeks, he feels like he can finally say he’s taken that first step on the winning side of things.

Before he gets out of the train, his phone vibrates with Adam’s reply:

_“Ace Lou! I’m sure you’re gonna get it and when you do, I’ll come to Brighton and take you out for a celebratory pint_ _😉”_

–

The move to Brighton was far from painless.

Well, the whole process of quitting his job at the Anchor all the way to here, his new flat in the center of Brighton, had been a pain.

First, Louis had had to _convince_ Liam and Leigh-Ann to let him go. After a detailed list of reasons why everyone would be better off without him there in the Anchor, Liam had actually cried a little and they had all gotten smashed at the pub. Before leaving around 4a.m., Louis had coaxed the half-awake Liam to let him sign the papers and stolen his letter of reference from Liam’s desk drawer.

Second, he’d had to get Zayn and Liam to help him with moving. That’s not something even worth getting into, because it had involved a lot of bribing with alcohol and a promise a big enough couch that is free for all eternity for them to crash on. At this point, Louis had realized that he might be missed here.

And then last came the point where Louis realized that he actually would miss London as well. It is through that he moved to the city mostly to get closer to Harry, but he had learned to love the bustle of the city and all it’s different kinds of people that frequented the Anchor. He would definitely miss his people, too, and his flat. It may not have been his first choice back in the day, but it had made a very special place in Louis’ heart.

In the third category, well, there was also Harry.

Louis had still been childish enough to not face the situation. He still hadn’t even bloody informed Harry that he was moving, but at this point, it had just been too long. Over a month, really. Besides, Harry hadn’t contacted him either, is how Louis reasoned with himself. And a little bit Zayn. In the end, Louis had written a letter and told Zayn to deliver it to Harry. Or Niall, if the other was too scared to face Harry.

A coward-y, dick move. Louis knows.

There’s just this underlying fear of all of this greatness going to shit the exact same moment he sees Harry’s face and Louis’ just not ready for that.

Right now, sitting on his new couch, alone for the first time in 12 hours, Louis can feel the distance for the first time. Sure, they haven’t seen in a month, haven’t talked, but before Harry moved in with him, they sometimes had longer stretches of minimal communication when Harry was busy. Now, however, Louis feels like he has of his own free will cut Harry out of his life and put that distance there between them.

It still doesn’t sit right with him, but maybe it’s just one of those things that he’ll get used to. When he swipes his thumb over the rope on his wrist gently, a small ache burns hotly inside him reminding him that it will never be that simple. No matter how he wishes, Harry will always be there, at least, imprinted on his skin.

His phone vibrates and for a second, Louis’ brain, still dwelling on thoughts about Harry, hopes it’s the said man.

Zayn: _Stop moping around and go grocery shopping. We’ll come visit in two weeks. You’re cookin', u dick._

It’s a message full of love, although it wouldn’t maybe seem so to others and it’s enough to get Louis moving again. After all, it’s just one day at a time.

–

See, getting mad is really not Harry’s thing.

He gets annoyed and frustrated, sure, but getting mad or angry – it’s just too much negative emotions.

But, when Zayn hands him the letter, as if it’s not enough confusion for Harry to see the said man at their door, a small, less familiar feeling begins to brew inside him.

“A letter?” He quirks an eyebrow, “He left me a letter?”

Zayn nods.

Harry lets out a small snort, waving the thin envelope in his hand. It’s a piece of paper and Louis actually thinks this is supposed to make-up for the weeks’ worth of silence and agitation. No thanks.

“Yeah, you can tell him I’m not interested. If this is the best he’s got.”

The corners of Zayn’s mouth pull into a tight line, before he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve already forced one of you to grow up, don’t think I won’t repeat it.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know, you don’t scare me.”

“I’m not supposed to, you knob,” Zayn shakes his head, “And anyway, this doesn’t even fucking involve me, so if you wanna not read the letter, just throw it away then. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Fine,” Harry huffs, now mimicking Zayn’s pose to appear a little more confident.

“But,” Zayn then adds, one foot already stepping backwards, “It might do some good for you to actually reflect on shit, too. He’s given you so much rope, Harry, don’t you think it’s time for you to take a look in the mirror?”

With that, the older man’s walking off. Harry feels like middle-fingering him, but instead he slams the door shut. Fucking hell.

“In my own house..”, he grumbles, before closing into his own room.

For a moment he actually thinks about not opening the letter, but the curiosity and need for explanation gets the better of him.

It’s hand-written, so it’s a little difficult to make out some of the words, but Harry makes-do. Basically, Louis is apologizing for letting this fight or whatever go on for too long and he does a good job at pointing out his own needs: space, time to think, answers from himself… Those, Harry can even appreciate for a second, but then- then, at the end of the letter, there’s three rows that make the small smolder inside him flare:

_Yeah, anyhow, I know you’re mad at me for abandoning you just like that, but I didn’t know what else to do in the situation. You can always call me. Or come see me. Here in Brighton, because I moved. Right, moved, because I got a teaching job at one of the local elementary schools._

Louis has never had his way with writing, but this, _this,_ is just outrageous. Harry can’t believe it. Doesn’t he deserve a little more than just three rows at the end of a letter that he could’ve just as well not have read? A little more than a fucking announcement _after_ Louis had moved?

Here Harry has been, for weeks, trying to sort his mind, to get rid of that image in his mind: Louis, distressed but also nearly disgusted, leaving Harry behind after what was basically a break-through in whatever their relationship had been at that point. It had felt like someone had pulled the rug from right underneath him.

Harry knows they hadn’t talked about any specifics of whatever they were doing in a while, but somehow he had had the trust in Louis. He’d trusted that Louis knew what they were doing, because that was how it had always been: Louis guiding Harry, not the other way around. And then when Louis had left him there, it had been a clear sign to Harry that the older just wasn’t quite _there_.

That alone would’ve been something Harry could have dealt with, but combined with the fact that Louis just never contacted him. At first, Harry had given Louis some space, because it was so blatantly clear that the older needed it. That had hurt Harry, because the two of them, they had always had a way with each other, they never needed to take steps back or whatever. They just knew how to go about things related to each other.

Then, Harry heard nothing from Louis. As the days went on and turned into more days, the old, almost comfortingly familiar feeling of having been left behind just snuck up on him. Up until that point, Louis had always been there. He had never let Harry down, he had always shown up. It was the foundation of the trust that Harry had built towards Louis and suddenly it just wasn’t there anymore.

It’s not like he didn’t think about reaching out himself, but the way he managed to get wrapped up in his own head might’ve affected his judgement. The weight Harry had put on this thing – their relationship – started to become clear to him and suddenly it seemed like he had no idea where he stood with himself, let alone with Louis. And reaching out to the older just wasn’t even an option anymore.

Everything had become a mess.

However, despite all this, Harry doesn’t think there’s anything that could justify Louis moving away without a single word. No matter how royally they had fucked up their relationship, there’s just no way the two of them should work like this.

There’s just no way Harry can see himself calling the older, or even texting, because the older had clearly just knocked the last nail in the coffin what comes to their relationship. Harry can’t think of a better or more blatant way to inform him about Louis’ will to take distance and put an end to whatever once was.

However childish this may be, it’s something Harry knows he can stand behind. It’s a toxic self-defense mechanism, but it has worked more or less for over 17 years now. Why should Louis make any difference. 

–

Brighton had turned out to be something better than Louis had expected.

His co-workers had taken him in with a nice amount of enthusiasm and he had already been taught the best places to get a smoke in without the kids seeing. His flat isn’t half bad either, it’s quite a bit bigger than the one he had in London and it allows a lot more light to filter in through the windows. He doesn’t live too far away from anything, really, and settling down hasn’t been much of a hardship. He’s even managed to make a friend of the PE teacher of the school he works at and had invited the man for a pint and FIFA playing later on today.

It’s just, Louis has noticed that he still spends quite bunch of the time he’s not working trying to fill that void. He feels like alone it’s difficult to fill the flat, feels like there’s a scent missing from the air and most prominently, a person missing from his life. Most days, it almost makes Louis laugh – because there’s just nothing else to do – how desperately co-dependent he seemingly had become of Harry.

Today, it’s Saturday and his day off, so he’s adamant about not letting himself think about Harry, though. He’d ordered some pizzas for him and Sam and while waiting for both of them to arrive, he’s actually cleaned the flat and is now folding away his laundry. Louis had learned, in the past few weeks, that the best way to keep the thoughts of Harry at bay is to just keep moving.

In the middle of folding the last t-shirt, is doorbell rings. It’s probably Sam, since the pizzas aren’t due for another fifteen minutes, Louis thinks as he trots to the door.

Whether he should be happy, sad or scared, Louis doesn’t know.

“A letter?”

Harry seems everything but impressed or pleased, holding the all-too-familiar piece of paper in front of Louis’ borderline shocked face. And yeah, Louis would probably have reacted much the same way, but the difference is that he would’ve never had the guts to face Harry.

Harry, obviously, isn’t Louis.

“Right, err,” Louis stands back a little, awkwardness starting to show as sweat on his palms, “I’m sorry?”

Harry quirks his brow, lips in a thin line. “Is that a question? Because I swear to God Louis, if it is..”

“It’s not,” Louis interrupts, holding his hands up in defense, not willing to have Harry attack him in the hallway, “Look, I am sorry. Do you wanna come inside, we can talk?”

Harry huffs, clearly annoyed, but accepts the invitation, pushing inside the flat past Louis. Louis can’t help but take a deep breath before closing the door and following Harry to the living space, where the younger is standing in the middle of the room, eyeing the furniture and the whole room like he doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He’s clearly too agitated to sit down, too wound up. “Wanna sit?” Louis offers anyways, because he doesn’t know what else to say, where to begin.

Clearly, Harry doesn’t have that issue, “No, I don’t wanna sit, Louis. I wanna know what the hell happened.”

Right. That.

Louis scratches the back of his neck, slowly sitting down on the couch and eyes avoiding the younger’s. “Where do I start?”

He can hear himself how tired and defeated he already sounds, but at this point, there’s really no room making any excuses. Seeing Harry behind that door had made Louis’ heart race double it’s normal speed and he knows it wasn’t just because he was nervous.

“At the beginning.”

Louis meet Harry’s gaze briefly, before leaning his arms on his knees, hands touching each other and fingers fiddling nervously. “I panicked, is what happened. It’s, it’s not the beginning. But it’s the most accurate explanation I have.”

Harry finally – though hesitantly – sits down on the lounger opposite Louis. He looks expectant, so Louis continues.

“So clearly I have feelings for you,” he admits, “But they’ve been there for quite a while. Like, since we were teenagers, that kinda while.”

“But, then- Weren’t we doing good?” Harry interrupts, his tone something between surprised and unbelieving.

Louis huffs a small laugh, eyes meeting Harry’s again. “Not that simple, curly. I wasn’t prepared for the fact that you might, at some point, reciprocate those feelings. For me, whatever we were doing, had very little to do with actual love and feelings. I thought we were just having fun. The obstacles between us were infinite, in my mind.”

Harry’s about to interrupt again, but Louis stops him with his hand. “Anyway. Then at the wedding, it just got to be too much. I was drunk, I could already hear it in my mind how Alice and mum were both judging me, and, and they knew you know? I’m so sure they knew, and I had just made it so obviously clear that they were right all along. And then after,” Louis shakes his head, “I guess I was tired. Of fighting the feelings. Of always being there for you. I just, I needed someone to be there for me, for a change, I guess.”

The hurt on the younger’s face is clear as a day, but Louis refrains from jumping to comfort him, because if this time apart has thought him anything, then it’s the fact that he needs to say how he feels.

“That’s- I didn’t know,” the power in Harry’s voice is gone now, replaced with this undertone of apologizing and also uncertainty.

Louis shrugs, eyes now keenly looking at Harry, who doesn’t seem to be able to meet Louis’ gaze for a change. The older continues for a bit more, “Look, it’s my own fault as well. During the course of the years, I made liking you into this bad habit when in reality it was never the issue. The issue was that I prioritized you over meself, because I was too scared to tell you in any other way, what you mean to me.”

Harry’s eyes are slightly teary when he looks up from his lap and shrugs, mimicking Louis’ earlier action. “I should’ve known. Now I just feel stupid, barging in here like this with all these accusations,” the younger laughs a little but it’s sad at best.

Louis shakes his head immediately, “You couldn’t have known, c’mon. I made sure I didn’t tell you. It has been my thing, Haz, my issues.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares at the letter, looking small and suddenly so defenseless, the way Louis is used to seeing him when talking about serious stuff – that’s when Louis gets up and walks to the younger, crouching in front of him.

“Don’t feel bad about this, Harry,” Louis tries to meet the other’s eyes, tries to convey the feeling behind his words, “Mistakes were made, by both of us. But I made my choices, on my own. I could’ve told you. Hell, I should’ve told you. I just didn’t want to stir up any shit with the family. Or with us. Our friendship has always meant the world to me, you know that.”

“I know,” Harry nods, “I just feel like the shittiest person ever for not seeing that everything you did for me… I mean, no one ever treated me that well.”

Louis shrugs again, a coy smile playing on his lips now. “Yeah, but that has kinda been my thing since forever, really. And that will never change, Haz. I _do_ want to take care of you, I just need to open up about my own feelings as well. We can definitely be friends, I never wanted to cut you out of my life completely, just needed tim-“

“Hold up,” Harry’s brows knit together as he interrupts Louis, “What are you on about? Friends? You, I mean—just friends? I mean I guess it’s okay, but that’s not where I thought this was heading at.”

So, those are probably the words Louis has wanted to hear for most of his life. The effect they have isn’t quite what he thought it would be: No huge waves of shock going through his body, no overflowing happiness or immediate surge of love spewing out of him with the force of a thousand suns. Just a split-second of a electricity at the ends of his fingertips and this barely-there missed heartbeat.

“I thought- well, when you didn’t contact me, I just assumed I’d screwed up too badly? I know how that must’ve seemed and you just, I know you need that 100 percent support, H. So, I just assumed there’s no way, like in hell, you know.”

Louis must look helpless because now there’s a small smile on the younger’s lips, the one that tells Louis that if the situation wasn’t as serious as it was, Harry would make fun of him and his over-analyzing brain. Harry doesn’t make fun of him, just clears his throat and waves the letter in front of Louis once again.

“You think I came all the way here to just reprimand you on the letter?”

Louis looks positively dumbfounded, he’s sure. “Er, yes?”

Harry shakes his head, “Well, think again. Louis, I felt rejected, yes. I felt left alone, yes. And I was hurt by your actions, but the thing is, something completely new to both of us happened after that wedding: We read each other wrong.”

“Yeah?” The older’s tone is hopeful.

“Yes,” Harry nods, so much more confident now, “I thought that you were done with me, with trying. I know this hasn’t been simple, the circumstances aren’t exactly on our side, but I just assumed that we’ll get there eventually. But then you just left me, alone, at the wedding and suddenly I wasn’t so sure anymore. Because it has always been you, who’s shown the way.”

Louis feels a little stunned, because while yes that all makes sense, it also absolutely does not. Louis has been so lost for so long now, it’s a ridiculous idea to even think about. Him, leading? No, he’s always followed Harry, hasn’t he?

“This is ridiculous, Haz,” Louis laughs a little, sparking some light into Harry’s eyes with it, “Look, I honestly did think about stepping back and just finally grow out of being depended on you and your absolutely perfect presence. But I don’t think I would’ve ever been able to get over you.”

Harry raises his brows, teeth sinking into his lower lip briefly. “Does this mean you’ll give it a chance? Us?”

_There it is_ , Louis thinks as the thousand suns finally shine through his smile and he’s done with the uncertain mood in the room – actually, he’s done with being uncertain about everything related to Harry, because clearly, it hasn’t gotten him very far in the first place.

With that thought in his mind, Louis launches himself on Harry, arms wrapping around the taller man and lips smacking big, wet kisses all over his face.

“ _Yes_ , Harold, I will!”, is what Louis says in a high-pitched voice in between the kisses.

Harry laughs but at the same time tries to push Louis away, just enough to get a few words in there somewhere. “Aight, aight, I get it! You love me!”

Louis stills for a bit, slightly out of breath, and meets Harry’s gaze, the younger’s eyes full of light and _greengreengreen_.

“Well, yeah,” Louis shrugs then.

As he looks at Harry there, in front of him, finally close enough to be touched, closer even, because now Louis can also enjoy that touch, he thinks that maybe his most days will finally be something worth living for more than just trying to keep it together.

He breathes out the next words, feeling the biggest weight being lifted off his shoulders, “Yeah, I do love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. 
> 
> This work has been.. an odd one for me to write. But I made it, so I guess I can be proud of it. As always, I'm grateful for any feedback! Love you all x


	6. Epilogue

If there’s something Louis doesn’t miss, it’s the traffic of London.

He has no clue how or why he decided to own a car when he was still living in here, because right now, weaving through the city feels like a pain in the ass. But then again, Louis seems to have forgotten many things about life in London.

It’s not like Brighton is a small-town, but it’s small enough after London to give that small-town vibe. Now that Louis has grown accustomed to it, the hurdle of London just seems unnecessarily loud and bothersome.

Nonetheless, he’s taken the choice of arriving at Zayn and Liam’s by car – regardless of warnings that traffic might happen – so he’s seeing it through. Although, he does make a silent promise to himself that this is never happening again.

If one has to look for a silver lining, which Louis very rarely does, in this case it might be the gift of time. He has time to think what he’s going to say. Not to Liam or Zayn, of course, the two of them are going to be ecstatic, as they probably have had a pool going on about this, but it’s the other people he’s also supposed to see afterwards.

Well, not just him.

Harry as well.

Getting engaged had not been planned, but then again not many things in their relationship had been planned at all. But Louis maintains that it had been the right choice, because honestly, Harry’s smile, tears and every single emotion after Louis had asked, had made him sure of that.

After Harry and him had officially started dating, many things happened quickly and in the beginning it had stressed Louis out. Because he had dreamed about that – dating that is – for as long as he could remember. But then when it came true, he started worrying that they were moving too fast. Like maybe they weren’t savouring each moment.

Harry had called him stupid and deadpanned that the two of them had danced around this for long enough. There simply was no need for hitting the brakes. After much reflection and persuasive kisses from the younger, Louis had come to the same conclusion. In the end, they had only been together for a way under a year when he’d popped the question just two weeks ago.

He would most definitely call that day the best day of his life so far, although many days with Harry came close to it. The beach not too far away from where they live now was at its best during summer evenings when the sun was setting and people’s noises filled the air. It was just the way both of them liked it. There, a little bit further away from all the action, they had sat on a picnic blanket and Louis had asked Harry, whether the younger could imagine spending the rest of their lives together.

Harry had said that he could not only imagine it, but also very much planned on doing just that.

It was almost a picture perfect moment, which Louis will always cherish, because God knows not everything in their relationship has gone the way he had dreamed in the past. Their first time kissing, having sex or basically any of their firsts hadn’t exactly gone smoothly or without some inner turmoil. So this one, Louis had been determined to get right.

Of course, he had not thought of the aftermath.

For once, he’d just gone with the flow.

But the thing is that it’s not just him and Harry in this world, no matter how often it got to feeling like that. There still are other people who, in a way or another, deserve to know what’s going on in their lives.

Such as Vivian and Alice.

After that day many months back, when Harry had come to Louis’ house fuming about the letter and everything else, they had taken leaps forward. Harry had first sort of travelled back and forth between London and Brighton until he’d gotten sick of it and transferred to Brighton university in order to finish his degree there. They had moved into a slightly bigger apartment not too long after and, well, it just had finally started feeling like a relationship to Louis. Slowly, but surely.

Yet at the same time, nothing had changed. They were the exact same people, only now they got to share kisses wherever they went and whoever they were with.

Of course when Harry moved away from London, from Alice – yet again – he had to explain why and where he was going. _That_ conversation had not gone well. Louis can still remember the incredulous face his sister had made when they’d finally faced her, after all of Harry’s stuff was in the car and all that was left of him in the house were the few scented candles.

“You can’t be serious?”

The question had been probably pointed at the both of them, but Alice’s eyes had been boring in to Louis’ soul. Because his sister had suspected, perhaps even known, of his feelings. Still, it must have been different to hear it out loud, to see the two of them holding hands and admitting that this was now a reality.

“You know what the family is going to say right?” Alice had shaken her head, popped her lips almost as if she was anxious, “And mum. Have you even told her yet?”

“No,” Louis had stated and tried to stand tall, behind their relationship because this was what was probably the hardest bit for him, “But we’re going to. And we know what the family will say. But we really don’t care.”

Harry had nodded along Louis’ words and continued: “I’m thankful for all this family has done for me, but we all also know that I’m not a Tomlinson. Never was and never will be.”

_“Well”_ , Louis had wanted to say that out loud then, because in his hopes and dreams, Harry would carry his last name one day. But that hadn’t been very current at that time.

Alice, however, had snorted and probably thought about the exact same thing. There aren’t many similarities between her and Louis, but somehow his sister still manages to read Louis awfully well in the oddest moments. But, bless her, she had schooled her expression, and typical to her indifferent ways, waved her had. “Fine. Do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me when there’s no one in this _family_ that will want to be in touch.”

They wouldn’t, they’d known that already back then.

Vivian had been a bit of a tougher case.

She had cried about how disappointed she was, not only in Harry but also – or more like, especially – in Louis. And sure, it must have been hard to lose the so-called Golden Boy of the family, but honestly, Louis had already decided that he did not want to go on, trying to fake perfection like his mother had tried to do.

Vivian had also tried to guilt them into thinking that whatever was between them was sick and wrong, but Louis had already had the words at ready for that:

“You’ve said it yourself: Harry is not a part of our family. He is not a Tomlinson, neither are we related. You used those words to free yourself from the responsibility you should have taken over Harry when your barely-eighteen daughter took him in against your wish. So. Keep them in mind now too. There is nothing wrong with childhood best friends falling in love.”

Those words, more than anything, had freed Louis from his own inner-turmoil that at that time had still shown up from time to time. Harry had been so proud of Louis after that that they had ended up throwing a small-scale party with the lads before going back to Brighton the next day.

Now, however, they would have to not only tell Vivian and Alice that they were in fact not only engaged, but also getting married in three months’ time. Because Harry wants a beautiful fall wedding and Louis wants to marry the love of his life as soon as possible. And maybe Harry also loves him, but honestly, it’s about that fall wedding.

When Louis finally pulls up in the parking lot of Liam and Zayn’s apartment building, he sighs of relief. Harry had been so lucky to travel a day early by train. Not that Louis is going to tell him that.

He takes the lift to the sixth floor and rings the bell on the familiar door that states Malik & Payne on it. The names look nice together, Louis thinks once again.

The door flies open quite soon and then Louis has a whole Harry hanging off of him. “It took you forever,” the man faux cries, but Louis can feel him smiling against his cheek.

He rolls his eyes. “Dramatic.”

Harry extracts himself, but the smile is still very much on place. That’s a funny thing, Harry’s smile, as Louis thinks something must have happened to it after they got together officially. It has always affected him in a funny way, that prickly feeling under his skin that warms him all over, but nowadays, it has reached a whole new level. Maybe it’s the knowledge of having Harry by his side, knowledge of the fact that every morning the younger will be there, wishing him a good day at work before burying under the blankets again, only a mop of brown hair visible.

Louis doesn’t know for sure, of course, but that’s the inkling he has.

“Did you tell them already?” Louis asks then, finally inching inside the flat.

Harry shakes his head and waves his left hand fingers in front of Louis. It’s void of any rings, which in itself still looks odd because Harry used to wear a million of them in his hands before he got the engagement ring. Now the hand is just empty.

“Put it on,” Louis then sort of whines, sort of hums, as he kicks his shoes off and watches the younger man dig up the ring from his jeans’ pocket.

It’s a very simple titanium ring that has an engraving inside it, also very simple, stating their initials and the date they got engaged. Louis had taken some liberties there and put the engraving in before Harry had even said yes. But he had had faith.

Now that Harry slips the ring on his finger, another warm wave of happiness runs through Louis. He doesn’t think he’s gotten quite used to the ring yet, but at the same time whenever Harry takes the ring of while cooking or something, his hand looks orphan.

Louis takes Harry’s hand in his and pulls the man in for a few quick kisses, before they make their way into the living space, where Liam, Zayn and Niall are all sitting around the telly, watching a footie game. For a moment there Louis is captivated by the TV and doesn’t even notice Harry clearing his throat as an attempt to gain everyone’s attention.

Louis isn’t the only one who doesn’t notice, it seems, because soon enough Harry picks up the remote control and brutally shuts the TV. Loud echo of complains ring through the room, even Louis indignantly huffing. Harry gives him an unimpressed look, before lifting his hands up to shush the other men.

“We have an announcement.”

Niall snickers before Harry can continue. “Are you pregnant?”

None of them find it funny, which seems to offend Niall on some level, judging by the way he pushes his (fake)glasses up his nose and huffs.

Zayn’s and Liam’s eyes are keenly on them, however, and for some reason Louis feels a bit nervous. It’s more about Zayn, most likely, because well. It’s not like Zayn doesn’t support them, he definitely does. Has for a long time now. But he’s also Louis’ best mate and has for years now been the one to look after Louis, especially when it has come to Harry-related issues.

When the situation had changed, when Harry and Louis both realised that there actually was mutual love there and decided to give it a go, Zayn had been slightly sceptical. Which was understandable. After all, he had been the one who had had to watch Louis suffer quietly and less quietly during the years when it came to Harry. The other had come around eventually, not that he had openly discouraged the relationship at any point.

Still, Louis somehow feels a little nervous, so he turns to Harry only to find the younger already looking at him. There’s that rare, timid smile on the other’s lips, which tells Louis that he knows Louis is nervous. Harry takes a hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly to convey his support. It helps, of course it does.

“Hey guys,” Liam says, “We’re getting a bit nervous here. Is this serious? Are you moving to China or something?”

They turn to look at the others, small smiles and huffing laughs leaving their lips, because when do they ever do anything with a serious face.

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head then and lifts Harry’s hand up with his own, parading the simple ring on the left hand, “But we do have to ask you if you’re all free on September 15th?”

Niall’s the first to jump up, hands thrown in the air. He hollers in a very loud and unpleasant way before crashing into them, hugging them tightly while throwing congratulations around. Liam follows suit, hugging them from the side and informing them that he’ll be taking care of the booze side of things. Only Zayn stays put and Louis strains to see his reaction from behind the other men. The raven haired man is looking at the group and there’s a small smile playing on his lips as he leans his chin on his hand. He catches Louis’ eyes and the smile widens as he mouths: _You did it, mate_.

And that’s really all Louis need to hear or see, however you want to see it. He knows that Zayn understands what this means to him. And he knows that this all Louis has been actively dreaming about for years now. The look on Zayn’s face mirrors all the feelings Louis must have gone through in those years, the time he cried about Harry to Zayn, the times Louis had come over for a morning tea, looking like death because he had woken up in the middle of the night to pick Harry up and that time on the balcony, in that one party, where Louis had finally crossed the line and Zayn had seen the turmoil that was raging inside the older. All of that, is slowly fading away, the same way as Zayn’s smile turns bigger, more genuine by the second.

Louis finally makes a break from the hug to pull Zayn up from the couch and properly hug him as well. “Thank you.”

Zayn only pats his back a few times before they separate. Harry’s hand comes to rest on Louis’ lower back then and Zayn turns his eyes to the younger. “You take good care of him then. He’s been waiting for this for a long time.”

Harry’s eyes soften as he sheepishly nods. “I know,” his eyes turn to Louis, “I asked him to marry me almost twenty years ago and he said yes then already. It must have been hell to wait for me to actually live up to that ask.”

Louis grins at that, very well remembering the time in the treehouse. “So technically, it was you who asked me to marry you and not the other way around? Where’s me ring then, curly?”

A whole new, playfully snidey conversation kicks up from there, but Louis just feels utterly at peace and happy. He can’t stop his eyes from drifting to Harry every now and then, so in that sense nothing has changed. But as he’s so many times noticed in the past year, everything has changed. There’s no more fear of something being left unsaid. There’s no more trying to restrain himself from showing the love that has been brewing inside him for years on end.

There’s just him and Harry. _Just them_. And honestly, that’s all Louis could have asked for ever since he was just seven years old. Not many people get to hold the dearest thing to them in their hands every single day and that’s why, there is no end to how thankful Louis is.

“Hey,” Harry says then, nudging him, “You okay?”

Louis nods. “Just thinking of how thankful I am.”

Harry smiles then. “For?”

The older shrugs, eyes locking with those beautiful green orbs. “That I kept showing up. That _you_ made me show up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people asked for an epilogue that I ended up writing a short one. It's odd how difficult it is sometimes to get back to the universe I have previously created. Anyhow, hope this quenches your thirst, at least a little bit! x


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